Round 5 (conclusion) 18+

(This is all that I wrote for the story but I would be willing to explore various other avenues at request, including something more romantic such as a reunion with Damien and Naida. This next and final chapter is by far the most graphic and may be disturbing to some readers. Sex, monster genitalia, demons, tentacles it is all in there. Since it starts out rather mild I have used an * to denote the point when it may become too unsettling for some readers.)


 “You made the fight seem so effortless.” Naida commented, turning to Dread now that they were alone. The demon’s apartment was in stark contrast to the one he shared with Damien. The walls were stained and peeling, the wooden floor beneath their feet was scoffed and discolored, the overhead light cast a jaundiced pallor on the room which seemed to transmute solid matter into shadow. There was scarcely any furnishings: a wooden table with a single wooden chair, an old chest, a mattress undressed and without frame. There were no dressings on any of the windows and Naida noted, to his dismay, that the bedroom was window to window with the neighboring apartment building. To his relief, however, the apartment was clean and the only smell of any sort was that of the apples in the kitchen. There was nothing by way of entertainment, nothing save for their bodies. His first impression was not a good one but he had not come to see the fighter’s apartment. He’d come to experience something dangerous and potentially extraordinary.


Dread did not truly understand the full extent of his prize. Generally he received cash. Cash he used to purchase food and basic necessities. Occasionally he received items which could be sold for cash. Naida was, as far as prizes went, rather impractical and yet he could think of countless ways to enjoy him.


“My opponent was worthy…”  Sammael deserved credit for his performance, credit that Dread was willing to dispense even in the warrior’s absence.  “It is I who am flawed…”  He said pulling the elf into his chiseled body. His embrace left Naida with only enough space to breathe. Reaching back he unbound the elf’s silken hair and buried his face into it. He was not one to refuse the opportunity for sex even when presented in such an unorthodox way. 


“In what way flawed?” Naida asked, managing to get some space between, not too much but enough that he could look at the demon more closely. Up close he thought Dread significantly more handsome but there was something frightening in his beauty. The elf’s lungs ached, his head filled with a cacophony, and his knees buckled. Dread steadied him. The aura he’d glimpsed in the fight, those violent shades of purple mimicked by the demon’s irises, weighed heavily upon him. For the first time that evening Naida felt something akin to fear but that fear did not diminish his appetite/curiosity.


“My heart is artificial.” Dread answered as if one could escape with such a threadbare explanation. Naida barely heard the male’s voice over his own pulse. He squeezed the demon’s forearm to steady himself. With his other hand he reached out to touch the scars above the fighter’s heart. 


“Does it cause you any discomfort?” Naida asked with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The extraction of the original heart had not been performed by a surgeon, it had been performed by a butcher. It had been a fatal wound and yet here they both stood.


“Only the memory lingers. The scars are old.” Dread answered and then added as an afterthought. “My heart might be artificial but I am capable of feeling both pleasure and pain.” Naida nodded slowly, that was reassuring to know. “I’ve been wondering for a while now…” Dread started his hands sliding downward and around the other’s lower back. “What does my prize include exactly?”


Naida nuzzled against Dread’s chest, breathing in his scent, but mostly hiding his face. “Cooking, cleaning, sex whatever you need.” He responded looking up. He found that Dread’s usual grimace was replaced with another, inscrutable expression. “Though it would seem there is very little to clean. Where do you keep your clothes?” Naida asked, his tone playful.


“I require very little.” Dread answered combing his fingers through the elf’s wavy hair. “I can cook and clean for myself. I will accept your body as payment.” The demon continued in a voice as dark as it was cryptic.


Naida wrapped his arms around Dread’s neck and his legs around the other’s narrow waist. Something in the effortless manner with which the demon lifted him, alarmed him. Although Damien didn’t like to be penetrated he allowed Naida a good deal of freedom, freedom to control what happened and when. Dread seemed more the type to take what he wanted. 


The heat coming from the demon’s body was staggering, it was, Naida felt, as if he stood at the mouth of a great furnace. His skin flushed. His lungs tightened, each breath exacting a toll in its extraction. Naida was suddenly grateful for the low setting on the thermostat for it served to sober and relieve him from the heat of Dread’s body. For a moment they were nearly face to face and the elf used the opportunity to kiss the demon full on the mouth. He felt the fighter’s tongue against the seam of his lips, felt it press inside, tasted the other male’s sweet saliva and melted against him. As soon as the kiss began they were tearing haphazardly at each other’s bodies, clawing and groping, and ultimately collapsing into a heap on the bare mattress. Dread’s mouth scalded his own, the ferocity, the hunger, pulling the air from his lungs in a matter of moments. The demon’s mouth was full of razor sharp teeth, even the most tentative touch of his tongue was enough to prick the skin. The kiss tasted mostly of apples but there was a little bit of blood mixed in, his own blood. Dread untied his sarong, underneath the almost sheer fabric he wore only cloth strips which he’d wrapped intricately to avoid accidental exposure. They weren’t unlike the folds Dread used to bind his own genitals. It took only moments for the demon to unwrap him.


Dread’s mouth dropped down over his throat and shoulders, across his chest, where he lingered. Each nipple was sucked, flicked, licked, tormented into a state of throbbing rigidity. Naida rutted against the demon’s right thigh, sobbing helplessly into the stranger’s shoulder. In a matter of moments the elf was slippery with precum, clear, elastic, almost sparking pre cum. His cock echoed like a scream in an empty hall. The organ grew beyond its usual perimeters, he was, despite a very warranted fear, aroused to the point of hypersensitivity. The demon’s talons ran over his sides, leaving tiny red ribbons in his flesh that stung initially. The stinging was replaced with heat and an oddly electric tingle that made his head cloudy. Unable to focus his eyes he closed them. Clawing in the dark at whatever he could reach.


Dread had worked his way down to his crotch. Naida felt his thighs drop and two strong hands nudging his legs still further apart. He heard the stranger inhale slowly and felt in the whole of his being the growl that followed. The demon’s saliva was hot and cold at the same time. It felt like insects were crawling over his skin, his flesh prickled, goosebumps formed. Dread took everything into his mouth, his cock, his balls, all swallowed up in that hot, wet cavern. The demon’s tongue was mostly soft/pliable in the way that one expected a tongue to feel but there was one difference. In the center of the other’s tongue there was a nod, some extra taste receptor with a different texture. When drug across the underside of his cock or rubbed over the head his whole body broke down trembling. The male’s saliva dripped down to the base of his cock, a shock of contrasting temperatures spread across his pelvis. Naida’s body arched up sharply, mons right up against the other’s nose, the convulsions so strong that he could feel them not just in his perineum but deep inside his ass as well. He clutched Dread’s hair in both hands, raking the demon’s scalp with his nails. He shot ribbon after vicious ribbon down the back of the stranger’s throat. He heard the demon swallow, heard and felt him moan with pleasure.


Naida was still hard, still painfully swollen, his veins throbbing in time with his heightened pulse. Dread flipped him over on his knees. The backs of his thighs, his ass already soaked shamefully by his own fluids. He heard that Dread removed his clothes but when he tried to look the demon pushed his face into the mattress. He felt something peculiar press against him, something soft and flexible, something between a finger and a set of elongated lips. He felt it, possibly Dread’s cock, probing and suckling at his shuddering hole. He felt something almost the consistency of semen being smeared in the crevice between his legs and inside of him. He felt his legs giving out and a hand on his cock stroking him off. A hand big enough to sheath the whole of his sex, a hand calloused and strong, rubbing his nerves raw. He whimpered, mewled, begged to be fucked. He collapsed in the arm around his waist while that massive, slippery organ started to work/crawl its way inside. Pre cum or something like was spurted inside of him, filling him up, softening him. Arms, multiple slippery, suction cupped arms wrapped around his torso supporting him and forcing him back on that impossibly thick shaft. He felt it moving deeper and deeper inside, like a serpent. His body stretching, not quite tearing, but stretching to impossible dimensions to accommodate. Screams rose up in the back of Naida’s throat and for a moment he lost consciousness. 


When he woke a few seconds later Dread’s cock had gotten deeper, it was so deep that he felt as if it were twisted into his intestines. He could feel it writhing in his stomach, feel the bulge beneath his own tightly stretched skin. His hungry hole convulsed around the intrusion, drinking and sucking. He was forced back onto that shaft again and again with and without his consent, unable to escape the pressure. One of several tentacles let go of his waist and crept upward to his face. He grabbed hold, brought it to his mouth, and started to lick the slippery appendage with genuine hunger. The ooze it produced was sweet and delicious, strange colors swirled in front of his eyes, bending the light. He could hear the colors like music, like a violin almost. A tentacle engulfed his cock, the inner walls were covered in squishy nodules, creamy fluid seeped out from the seam, left his skin feeling like a current had passed through it. He came in the sheath, the tentacle drank it down hungrily, the suction enough to make his eyes water. He didn’t recognize his voice, the undignified whimpering, the husky repetitions of his temporary lover’s name. The projections on the head of Dread’s cock nudged at his prostate. More hot wet jets of cum were shot into the receiving tentacle. His body went limp, consciousness fading in and out, eyes rolled back, drool collecting in the corners of his slackened mouth. 


The fucking didn’t stop even after he lost consciousness. When he woke Dread’s massive cock was fully inside of him, he could see it moving inside of his stomach like a giant serpent. A thin, elastic tube slipped down his urethra, into his balls, following the same course his semen had taken moments before. His balls, which were emptied from multiple orgasms, were filled to bursting. He couldn’t cum while the probe was thus situated. He wanted to cum, needed to cum desperately. His body was burning up or was it freezing he couldn’t tell the difference. Dread’s pace increased, precise and unforgiving like a machine, his body shook as if in the throes of a seizure. His voice grew hoarse with the demon’s name. The serpent swelled, inches it seemed, he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was delirious, sobbing with a mixture of fear and intense elation. Had he the luxury of thought his life might very well have flashed before his eyes. He’d felt on the verge of death. For one blinding white moment he woke up, completely. They were one, indistinguishable, pure energy. The probe in his urethra slithered its way out. Naida’s climax was immediate. All that thick, white ejaculate type substance that had been forced into his sac came bursting out of his shaft in arcs, soaking not just the mattress but the wall in front of him. In the very same moment Dread was ejecting his own load with a force that literally convulsed him. With a force that ignited all his nerves and sent him spiraling in and out of consciousness. One minute the abyss, the next nirvana. He was drooling, clawing the sheets like a mad man, riding the other dry, ass greedy and convulsive. Dread removed his still hard cock. Naida felt himself lowered to the mattress. His last distinct memory was that of Dread’s cum trickling out of his still gaping ass and the other’s calloused hand stroking his back soothingly.


Round 4 18+

(very long chapter but this concludes Damien’s section: strong sexual content and suggestive conversations)

Damien left with the young man that had been seated beside him during the fight. Lathan was a 21 year old college student. He was on the track team, a sort of local legend as it were. As a lover he was enthusiastic and kinky in ways that Damien could not possibly have predicted. These qualities coupled with the other’s tremendous stamina had made for an enjoyable night but a night was all Damien could offer the athlete. Damien wasn’t willing to risk attachment and Lathan had struck him as a bit too eager.

Without the distraction Lathan afforded Damien naturally began to think of Naida. It wasn’t unusual for the elf to disappear for a few days without contact and Damien wasn’t really the sort to keep tabs. He preferred a certain degree of independence and initiative in his lovers but this situation warranted extra consideration. Naida had never been disappointed with his matchmaking efforts. He’d gone to great pains to arrange this liaison for the elf. He had no reason to doubt the success of his match. He’d witnessed the chemistry for himself first hand. What concerned him was Naida’s return. There had always been the possibility that Naida might not survive the encounter/might be too wounded to return of his own accord/might be detained indefinitely by the demon. There was also the possibility that the elf had simply chosen to remain with the demon. This latter possibility did not weigh upon him quite so much as the former. Damien had a lot in his favor and Naida was very attached to him.

Unable to sleep Damien woke at 12 am. He showered and dressed not in his usual suit but in a pair of well-fitted dark blue jeans, a white t-shirt with motif, and a charcoal blazer. He didn’t summon his chauffeur, it was a nice night, cool but not too cold. He decided on a walk to clear his head. Originally he had thought of hitting his usual nightclub but he was seduced by the music coming from another establishment, in a neighborhood which he was not known to frequent.

No one greeted him at the door. Patrons came and left without discrimination. Damien thought it best not to leave anything with the shifty-eyed man at the check-in. The floors were distressed and in places sticky. There was a smell. Not just one smell but dozens of overlapping smells, some of which were borderline offensive. There was a general sort of shabbiness and uncleanliness that made him consider leaving. The live music was incredible and the patrons were across the board above average, he could forgive a little dinginess after all. He headed toward the bar but was accosted half-way by a large hand. He turned around and found himself looking at the throat and collarbones of an incredibly tall person. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” The voice was like the shifting of tectonic plates, 

Damien felt the reverb in his temples, chest, and groin simultaneously. He looked up. The man had dark features, black eyes, thick black hair, dense eyelashes, dark complexion. His nose was a bit crooked but his strong jaw and full, well-shaped mouth made up for that. The stranger was dressed casually in jeans and a black vintage Nirvana t-shirt. He was not the kind of one-night stand Damien had in mind.

“You’d be wasting your time.” Damien responded in a loud, clear voice lest the stranger feign deafness. His grin was nuanced, bordering on offensive.

“Isn’t that why we’re here to waste time?” The stranger quipped, the depth of the man’s voice was capable of circumventing the crowd to a certain extent. Damien’s eyes traveled from the dark-haired man’s Adam’s apple upward to his fully expressed grin. The stranger’s face was tilted down and in his expression was a gentleness like windswept leaves. Such a sentiment was misplaced in the current setting and Damien found himself oddly confronted by it.

He had a point, Damien had come here specifically to waste time, to lose it really. All those hours spent thinking of Naida had become intolerable to him. He’d felt as if he’d lost his rhythm in the last few days and he resented it.

“You should know before you throw any money my way that I have no intention of sleeping with you.” The edge in Damien’s tone was diminished only by the transmission of said message directly into the stooping man’s ear. 

“I’m here for the music…” The stranger’s smile was easygoing and unpretentious. Had Damien been less narcissistic, he might well have accepted the other’s explanation but as a tried and true narcissist he saw only the convenience of a well-timed excuse.

“I am not in the habit of accepting drinks from strangers.” Damien tried again to thwart the man’s attention all the while aware of a certain willingness on his part for distraction. The trip to the bar, which had seemed so formidable in the crowd, was simplified by his companion’s imposing stature. The man ordered two drinks. “Devaris.” The stranger offered with a grin too imprecise to be an affectation. Damien took the offered drink. 

“Damien Aucoin…” The blond took a sip of his drink, it was excellent, if a bit strong.

“I know who you are.” Devaris said guiding Damien through the crowd to an empty table. Devaris’s lips ghosted the outer edge of the aristocrat’s ear when he spoke.

The blond turned his head to the side and rubbed his neck. Damien was forced to accept and return the man’s intimacy for the sake of conversation. The warmth of the other’s palm was apparent on his skin, when coupled with the stranger’s obvious interest, Damien felt oddly exposed. “You know?” Damien was well-known, even infamous in certain circles, but Devaris did not belong to those circles.

“I was at the fight. That was some stunt you pulled with your boyfriend. I can’t decide if you are depraved or just really fucking naive. Either way it was entertaining.” Devaris explained, his dark eyes shining with a mixture of humor and curiosity. How a man of such daunting proportions made himself appear so childlike Damien could not even begin to imagine. Was the other deliberately trying to disarm him?

“We have an open relationship…not that it’s any of your business.” Damien, despite his reservations, took a seat. The man drew their chairs closer together to counter the noise of the club. Their knees brushed.

“I gathered and it’s not my business but you asked how I knew you. That’s how…” Devaris smiled and took a sip of his own drink. He seemed unaffected by the alcohol content.

“Did you bet on the fight?” Damien asked scanning his companion, sea blue eyes dreamy, almost languid. Damien took another sip; he would certainly order this drink in the future.

“I did.” Devaris’s off-kilter grin was cryptic.

“And were you rewarded?” Damien asked his lips unconsciously, purposefully, touching the man’s outer ear.

“I was but I went home alone.” Devaris had seen Damien leave, had thought perhaps to talk to him, but refrained on seeing him preoccupied with another. At least this was the conclusion on which Damien’s mind fastened. Damien took another sip, this one for the sake of contemplation. Although he had not yet finished his first drink he was quick to order another round when the opportunity presented itself.

“And yet here you are….no prospects for a satisfactory conclusion…” Damien grinned and Devaris laughed. Damien felt his scalp tighten and tingle. Devaris laughed with his eyes closed, laughed without the constraint of artifice.

“What makes you think I’m here expressly to get laid?” Devaris asked sitting aside his glass, his attention so full and articulate that Damien found himself almost moved by it.

“Because that’s how it works in these places.” Damien answered and this time when he leaned forward to speak he inadvertently grabbed the other man’s thigh. This did not go unnoticed by Devaris. Damien felt very poignantly that he had been noticed and so he continued talking. “I admire your idealism but a successful hunt depends on more than just the tenacity of the hunter…” Damien removed his hand from the man’s thigh and took up his drink. “Two predators will only compete against each other…” Damien toyed absently with his glass before knocking back the contents.

“You do strike me as the predatory type but I’m not one to pass up a challenge.” Devaris answered putting his arm around Damien’s shoulder.  Damien felt not just the physical impetus for closeness but an almost gravitational pull toward his drinking companion. The audacity of the stranger caused the blond to laugh out loud, despite himself. The dark-haired man had an answer for everything, not necessarily a good answer but one sufficient to keep Damien engaged. 

“I fight back.” Damien answered with a sly grin but before the other could retort he launched into a tamer line of discourse. The conversation had taken a dangerous turn and for all his seeming confidence he was at a decided disadvantage.


Damien was so engaged as to be unaware of his alcohol consumption. He could not say precisely when he began his second drink or when Devaris had ordered a third, different, possibly stronger drink. He could not say how long he allowed the man to hold him or at what point specifically he pulled away.

“Do you ever fight? In the matches I mean.” Damien had previously noted the man’s muscular forearms and strong, calloused hands.

“No never…” Devaris admitted. Something in the curve of his mouth suggested amusement, awareness of a diversion but a willingness to proceed with the hopes of solidifying the character of the innocuous suitor. With a voice such as the stranger possessed it seemed that a more strait-forward seduction would save time. Devaris wasn’t in a hurry. He had all night and every reason to persist. Damien bit his lip in consternation before returning to the conversation at hand. 

“Then you are a laborer of some sort?” Damien asked critically, examining the man’s nails. They were clean and flush with his fingertips.

“Of some sort yes. I am a carpenter, mostly furniture.” Devaris offered amicably before continuing in a different vein altogether, perhaps in an effort to draw the conversation to a more tumultuous climax  “Let me guess you were born into wealth. Family business. Oppressive obligations. Chronically bored. Hedonist.” 

“You see straight through me…you and everyone else…I am surprisingly shallow.” Damien laughed dryly. He was, despite his efforts to the contrary, enjoying himself. He attributed some of his enjoyment to the alcohol and music but there was no denying that Devaris played a part. 

“I am a simple man. I prefer to know what I am getting into…” Devaris laughed. Damien felt his bones growl.

“And what exactly do you imagine you are getting into?” Damien asked, leaning forward and speaking his words against the other’s ear.

“You maybe…” Devaris answered in a tone which left little to the imagination.

The color drained from Damien’s face. He could feel the stranger’s eyes on him. ‘At last he admits it!’ Damien thought but it afforded him little comfort. It didn’t even afford him the ego boost generally accompanied by such attention.

“Do you want to dance?” Devaris asked, changing the subject so quickly that Damien, intoxicated as he was, forgot to retort. Just who did this bastard think he was and what right did he have to impose upon the only ritual which the young aristocrat still held to be sacred? It was absurd to think there could be anything between them. 

“With you? No not really…” Damien was careful to enunciate, maybe a little too careful. He’d tried to match his companion’s drinking pace but he’d failed. The man’s voice was just as much to blame for his drunkenness as the alcohol he’d imbibed. That voice, he suspected, was the whole reason he’d lost track of himself.

“But I with you.” He added standing up. For the last few minutes, hours, days (he had lost all sense of time) they’d been speaking and breathing into each other’s ears. He had literal goosebumps but conversation had never been his primary objective in going out. Dancing would at least silence the man for a while.

The two men moved to the center of the floor and Damien realized that they’d held hands though he could not recall the precise moment of this development. For someone so tall Devaris turned out to be a good dancer. Not as good as himself naturally but surprising no less. Damien opened himself up to embrace by leaning in to steady himself. He couldn’t bring himself to admit his short-comings and so he clung to the other with intention. Given the music, their proximity, and the way in which the crowd closed in on every centimeter of unoccupied space they were left with no alternative but to grind against each other. The difference in their heights made Damien feel smaller than he was in actuality. He knew precisely what role he fell into even though the dance itself had no clear lead. Wrapped up in the other’s surprising but mercifully dry body heat Damien could not help but breathe in the stranger’s scent. Consciously and unconsciously he was aware of the man’s scent and all the elements that composed it.

Devaris leaned down half-way through the second song and kissed him. Damien didn’t refuse the stranger’s entreaty, he was too caught up in the moment, and all in all it was only a pittance. The kiss was passionate, a cross between sensuality and brutality. Damien was surprised to find that he actually wanted to be kissed. Everything just seemed to taste better in Devaris’ mouth and in that moment, despite his objections, everything fell into place. The alcohol made Damien a little sloppy, a little more needy than he might have otherwise wanted to reveal. By the time they parted his lungs were raw and his cock was fully engaged. He turned around in the other’s embrace hoping to collect himself but failing. He wasn’t the only one with an erection. He tried to pull away but Devaris pulled him backwards and kissed his neck. One large hand snaked downward to fondle his crotch. Damien shuddered, fell into the man’s rhythm, and allowed himself to be carried away by the music. There was no reason to overthink the situation, it was just the character of the dance, a momentary indulgence one that need not lead beyond a little fooling around. Damien ground into the other man’s palm. He wished that he hadn’t chosen to wear jeans, there was little give in the material and the friction was absolutely maddening.

They continued to dance in a progressively lewd manner. Their hands chasing whatever skin was available. Damien bit and sucked at Devaris’ pouty lower lip. Devaris took the whole Damien’s ass into his hands and squeezed/kneaded him into a sort of dizzy, endorphin-confused subservience. They found every conceivable way to rub their erections against each other’s bodies until, to Damien’s astonishment, he found his boxer briefs damp and sticky with precum. Devaris shoved a hand down the front of Damien’s pants and growled into his ear. For a moment the carpenter’s large, calloused hand was in direct contact with the aristocrat’s throbbing erection. Damien inhaled sharply. The stranger proceeded to drag that same, now slippery hand across Damien’s bare stomach. At this point there could be no question that Damien was drunk. Why else would he allow the man such liberties? Being in public didn’t bother the blond in the slightest he’d participated in orgies, he’d even had sex in front of a room full of onlookers. And yet somehow in that moment he felt astonishingly defenseless. 

“Bathroom now…” This was all wrong. Damien tugged the stranger through the crowd and into the bathroom. It was occupied, even at this hour, with would be onlookers. Damien found a reasonable spot by the wall and unzipped his pants. “It’s just head…I-I’ll suck you off after…” His voice cracked. He’d aimed for nonchalance and failed. Devaris dropped to his knees in front of Damien and undid the fastenings on his jeans. For the sake of access Devaris let Damien’s pants and boxer briefs fall to the floor. Relief was instantaneous but short-lived, even without the added pressure of his pants Damien’s erection was still full to bursting. The blond reached down into the dark mass of hair. It was much softer than he thought and much thicker. He felt the man’s enormous hand encircle his dripping erection, he winced, the friction from their incessant grinding had heightened his sensitivity. 

Devaris lifted up the blond’s t-shirt with his free hand and licked Damien’s stomach clean. Damien closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He felt the other’s warm, moist breath across his cockhead. Cool by comparison. Devaris’s tongue traced the ridge between shaft and glans, drifted almost languidly along the cleft, and then around the tip slowly before swallowing up the hole head. Damien’s grip tightened. “Fuck…” He growled impatience and pleasure combining to undue him. The other smiled around his cock, descended slowly, half way, then came back to flick the crown, then faster, deeper, his fingers forming a ring at the very base for support. After several passes up and down his shaft the man pulled away and proceeded to mercilessly rub and knead the head of his cock until Damien was weak in the knees and incoherent. Pre cum welled at the slit, overflowed, and spilled back onto the man’s fingers. It was embarrassing, how wet he was, how eager. His sac, his hips, even his thighs were wet as a result of their earlier activities. He’d gotten shamefully close to cumming on the dance floor.

Devaris’s mouth covered his cock bobbing up and down, probing the too tight slit, it only took a few passes before he’d swallowed the entire shaft. Damien could literally feel the constrictive walls of the stranger’s throat, the hum of his satisfied growls, and the other’s nimble tongue stroking his distended, throbbing veins as it traveled over every inch of his shaft. Everything escaped him: their location, the men jerking off a few feet away, the smell of urine, everything but the way Devaris’ lips and tongue felt when thus employed. He clawed at the man’s scalp with blunt nails, coaxing and then ramming his cock down the other’s throat. Devaris seemed altogether too familiar with his preferences, squeezing his balls just a little too tightly, letting his teeth scrape gently across the delicate skin, letting himself relax into a sort of sloppiness that was in no way inherent given the prowess he’d already demonstrated. Damien’s thoughts were replaced entirely by sensory input, input that he could not wholly differentiate. All that he felt seemed concentrated in his sex. It was all he could do to even remain upright. As for his moans he didn’t care who heard them, he didn’t even care that it was Devaris’ name that he repeated in a voice that was clearly not his own. He was shaken to the core, shaken and forced to hold the man for support. His eyes rolled back, his mouth slackened, he drifted in and out of awareness like a man at sea.

It was an unusual fetish of his, having his cockhead gnawed and yet Devaris seemed to know it just as he seemed to know everything else. That it hurt was the point, Damien liked everything to hurt a little. Each time he felt the other’s teeth on him his cock spasmed with such ferocity that he couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t actually cumming. He was violently awake in those moments, awake like his survival depended on it and then his overwrought senses merged again and he was reduced to his own obscene futility. 

Devaris seemed intent to make him wait, to not quite let him cum, he was denied twice the satisfaction. He resorted to begging, to throat fucking, and even a little cursing. To tease him in such a filthy place no less but Damien liked that too, the attention, knowing that people saw him and were aroused. Devaris didn’t complain or even move to slow him, he just relaxed his throat and let Damian fuck him in earnest. Once free to climax it didn’t take long. He didn’t give a warning when he came because no warning could possibly have been more emphatic than his feverish cries or the spasms wracking his hips, balls, and shaft simultaneously. He wanted Devaris to drink his cum, the thought of seeing that bastard’s beautiful, lying face covered in cum made his orgasm that much harder.

Wordle #454 18+

Wordle 454

She’d never held a real gun before. Cradled against her palm she marveled at the weapon’s heat. If she’d not known better she would have thought the gun had been recently fired. It was a heat which spoke of defiance.The air was cool and moist. They’d been exploring the woods behind his house for hours and had only just come across a clearing. The sun had just set and the overcast sky was the color of oyster shells. The clouds had gathered to form a mass. A throbbing, ash-colored mob that would descend upon their heads with or without provocation. She could see that it rained in the distance. The air smelled of pheromones and petrichor. She suggested that they take shelter. He laughed and sealed her fingers more firmly around the barrel. He wanted her to touch it. She did as he insisted. She could feel his pulse against her hand, like a song heard from faraway. He was all bass and bravado. She knelt down, careful not to catch the hem of her dress beneath her knees. The ground was soft and forgiving. There were flowers as far as the eye could see. Delicate, quivering, blue flowers in imitation of a Spring sky. It was as if the world had been turned upside down. Blue and vibrant below and grey and lifeless above. She pressed her cheek against him and listened quietly and without breathing to the sound of the blood filling his shaft. 

Even in stillness his sex seemed to move, to pulsate, to struggle mutely. He gathered her hair into his hands, his fingers digging into the scalp. Her scalp tightened. She could feel him flowing into her like a current. Her thoughts dissipated. Her lips parted with a shaky inhale. His chest tightened, his rib cage suddenly too small for enormity. Her mouth watered. He swallowed. The hand not holding onto him disappeared underneath her dress. She touched herself through her panties. She was wet, a wetness which should have rendered the delicate fabric nearly transparent. Why had she chosen to wear something so simple, so childish? Plain, white cotton panties, bikini cut. She wanted to show him her pussy. To press his face against her. The muscles in her thighs clenched so hard that she visibly trembled.

The crown of his cock glistened, like moonlight reflected through water. She stroked him. First slow, then faster, working up a rhythm but not letting him cum. He pressed himself into her fist. He became impatient with her and her grip tightened a fraction. He moaned. She worked his foreskin over the glans. He bit his lip and she choked up on the head. He squirmed and she blew across the crown. Clear droplets gathered at the slit, she collected them on her needy tongue. Held onto them for a moment, like stars suspended in dew. She ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft, along the demarcations where the head met the shaft, and along the cleft in the center of the crown. She liked the silky texture of his cockhead best so she focused her efforts there for a time. Tasting, drawing shapes against him with her tongue, stroking him off, kissing him. She couldn’t see his balls but she knew they were tight and heavy. 

When the rain came and it did. It came hard pinning her dress against her body and her hair to her shoulders and back. There he stood in the middle of an open field like some sort of spastic scarecrow, hair matted to his face, goading and praising her underneath his breath. His voice was hardly human at all, it was more of a growl. She felt it in her cunt. She kept him warm by swallowing him. First just the crown. His hips shook. His fingers gripped harder. Goosebumps rose up on her skin. He held onto her but he didn’t start to fuck her until he had his cock half way inside of her. He started out slow and easy, nudging her, giving her time to adjust. When he got impatient she’d pull away. A gentle nibble. A playful flick. The tip of her tongue ghosting under his foreskin. The warm caress of her breath. Rain dripped down her face. He tasted like rain. He tasted like heaven. She drank him by the centimeter. Deeper and deeper until he was in her throat filling her up. She let him fuck her face. She felt like she was drowning and suffocating all at once. She filled his cock up with her moans. She accelerated her pace. She surrendered to his selfishness, to his impatience. She played with her clit clumsily through her panties. She couldn’t really concentrate on herself but she didn’t need to. She could feel his pleasure, his pleasure was her pleasure. She kept his spasming shaft trapped inside of her soft, wet, accommodating mouth. Permission to cum inside. Some of his orgasm slid down the back of her throat without her tasting it. Vicious white jets like compressed moonlight and she felt in that moment as if his whole being was spilling into him. She pulled back and let him empty himself onto her tongue.


Face down

between my thighs,

you inhale my scent

like a carnivore

and your breath

is just a little cooler

than the fever

growing in me.

Oceans spilling into

all the spaces

that we gather,

we are both

pounding wet.

Eyes lifted

your tongue strikes me

like a match.

We were made to combust.


There is reverence

in your brand of torture.

An indefinite hunger,

your supple mouth

opening and closing

in composition.

You are speaking

without making a sound.

You are reciting

the alphabet in French

against my swollen clit.

I am breaking, 

staccato jerking beneath

your crushed velvet touch.

I am a satellite

consumed by gravity.

We were made to evolve.


Your hands

are spreading

me apart.

I am adrift.

Your beautiful,

indecent hands

are a tether

between this life

and the next.

Sucking, licking

delicately gnawing

my body is an altar

overflowing with sensuality.

My lips are petal soft

and wet with dew

and everything you taste

you are eager to swallow.

We were made to worship.


Speak to me

with the tip of your tongue.

Speak to me

in whispers and gradations.

Drink from me

as though I were

an oasis.

Possess me,

I am luxurious.

We are greed incarnate.


I am beating myself

slowly to death.

I am eroding the sheets

every time I surface.

Wounded by your ingenuity,

I am full of panic,

of imaginary wounds

that you kiss away sweetly.

I am screaming 

your name in vain

to a four-cornered god.

I can feel your breath

breaking against me,

face down and praying.

I am helpless against

your heart-shaped mouth.

Together we can be saved.

Part 9

(This section contains oral sex, pretty graphic stuff that. Encase you are wondering why Dak’kon does not move in the scene it is because of the paralysis that occurs when under the influence of a sex fiend’s energy)

Once they returned to the room Nikolai began to strip down to his boxers. He almost removed his shirt as well but paused half-way up his chest before letting it drop. “I don’t want to tempt you too much otherwise I’ll never get any sleep.” The red head joked but in truth it was simply too cold to remove his shirt.

“If you never leave the house how do you get food anyways?” Dak’kon asked noting once more the other man’s thinness.

“Well the servants used to bring me stuff and I grow some vegetables in the garden. If you hadn’t showed up I probably would have gotten desperate enough to eat Xyven’s cooking. Though to be fair the man is/was actually a good chef.” Nikolai shrugged climbing into bed. ‘If only the fucker didn’t poison everything.’ He thought bitterly and that thought reflected in his expression.

They talked a little longer before saying goodnight.

The thick blanket did not totally neutralize the cold but he settled the best he could. It wasn’t long before Nikolai had maneuvered closer but he didn’t confront the man about it because the warmth of another body was actually kind of nice.

For the first half of the night Dak’kon’s dreams were pretty predictable, flashes of conversation and imagery all pertaining to recent events. There were even flashes of the kiss, in all its heated and forbidden glory but the dreams were not lucid like the ones Nikolai gave him.

It wasn’t until morning that his dreams took on an altogether different form.

Dak’kon felt a weight shifting at the foot of the mattress. He tried craning his neck to see if Nikolai was still asleep beside him but he could not turn his head. He felt someone tugging at the waist band of his pajamas bottoms. He tried to speak but found that he could not produce words, coherent or otherwise. His every sound was primal, monosyllabic, nonsense. His pulse was rapid with anticipation. He was not afraid. He felt his pants and boxers come off in one quick jerk and the warmth of someone’s breath on his rapidly growing erection. The hands caressing his thighs were not huge like Xyven’s and it seemed to him then that it must be Nikolai. There was indeed something almost reverent and affectionate in the hands sliding over his hips. Those questing fingertips, rough from work, sent chills down his spine. He inhaled sharply but his lungs felt compressed and thirsty and he could not draw quite enough air. His head was a skein of incomplete connections but what he lacked in reasoning ability he made up for in bodily sensations. He felt the other handling his balls, massaging them just so and with what seemed a very clear intent. They grew swollen and heavy, like ripe fruit. The person, whom he designated Nikolai, spread his thighs apart. He did not resist even though everything about the situation was alien and taboo. Dak’kon’s body was malleable to everyone but himself, he was locked in, a prisoner. His breathing grew ragged and he closed his eyes against the darkness.

His assailant (could someone capable of inciting so much pleasure truly be an assailant?) leaned forward inhaling the scent of his sex. The other growled face down in his crotch, the need was animalistic, uncompromising.

One of Dak’kon’s balls was taken into the unseen being’s mouth. Though he could not writhe he was accosted by the need when the other began sucking and manipulating his sac skillfully. Two fingers pressed against his perineum, rubbing it, stretching, ever-so-slightly, the muscles surrounding his entrance. Dak’kon felt full to bursting. His nuts were so engorged that the skin of his uncircumcised cock slid back as far it possibly could. He felt feverish, painfully aroused, bordering on delirious. No thoughts surfaced whatsoever, everything was swallowed in that warm, wet mouth. He felt the first drops of precum hot against his abs and it seemed that he might cum, prematurely, and without direct stimulation. Some force, not his will, kept him hanging on the precipice. He wanted to plead with the person but nothing escaped him but guttural monosyllables.

I can’t help it I am so hungry.” He recognized Nikolai’s voice, muffled though it was. He could neither give nor deny consent. He wanted it to go further, to keep going, to break his very soul apart. The attention, to his usually neglected sac, was incredible and when the red head started to hum he felt a wash of pure, undiluted ecstasy. He felt Nikolai’s fingers wrap around the base of his shivering cock and he could feel by the other’s grip that it was his biggest erection by far.

Nikolai began licking up the drops of pre cum on his stomach. The way the other was moaning suggested need, desire, unquantifiable lust. The fingers that had been massaging his perineum began cupping his balls, squeezing lightly, practically choking incoherent sobs from him. He felt the man’s moist breath on the head of his highly sensitized arousal and then a warm, slick, probing tongue lapping up every last drop of moisture around the slit. That same tongue, began a torturous promenade around the crown of his sex, starting at the overhang of glans and shaft and up the peach-like indenture. Nikolai was not impatient, Dak’kon was struggling to breathe. When the other swallowed the tip of his cock, he felt himself convulsing internally, he was gasping for air.

Centimeter by centimeter Nikolai worked down the length of his shaft, dragging his tongue along the underside whenever he slid back up. With each attempt Dak’kon’s cock began to disappear into that merciless cavern and then the man would pull out again flicking over the head with a practiced tongue. Dak’kon felt himself unraveling, the war with his body, the inability to thrust, his whole being throbbed and sweltered.

A rush of warm liquid electricity slid down his urethra, his muscles convulsed, his cock wept hotly. He’d never felt this sensation before, this heat, like an echo inside of his erection. He felt fractured, desperate, ravenous. No one had ever managed it, the full length of his cock but Nikolai had worked his way all the way to the base. Hot, wet, constricted. Once Nikolai reached the end he slid back up, slowly, cruelly, stopping at the top to tease the head before plunging down again. He began to pick up speed, Dak’kon felt his sex sliding into the back of the red head’s throat and all the while the man was milking his balls.

Soon…” Nikolai whispered the words right into the head of his sex, the man’s lips softly brushing against his fevered flesh.

Then Nikolai began to really go down on him in earnest, his moans almost entirely muffled by the massive shaft. That someone would want him this much, be driven to such hunger and such extremes, aroused him and terrified him simultaneously.

His muscles burned, he kept willing them to move, and they kept howling back at him to let out the savage energy contained within. His balls were near to bursting. When Nikolai had him locked in, all the way in, his cock went rigid, painfully, deliriously rigid and the echo within his sex became a scream. His muscles reverberated with a violence he’d never felt before, spasms so deep that they seemed to tear apart the very fabric of reality. When he came it was vicious and transcendent all at once. His cum immediately disappeared down the other’s throat, was swallowed, absorbed, and met with enthusiasm. When he thought himself spent, dry, utterly fulfilled his body was hit by a powerful wave of electricity that seemed to spark every single nerve and he came again, no longer able to recognize the inhuman sound of his own voice.

When Dak’kon woke up absolutely nothing made sense and yet he felt a sense of complete fulfillment, intense, overwhelming fulfillment. He was giddy, saturated by endorpins, unable to string a single thought together much less a sentence He was panting, his lungs raw with hunger. He wasn’t even aware of Nikolai looking down at him. He didn’t open his eyes. It was several minutes before he had climbed down and when at last he was back in his own body and back within the grasp of his own thoughts he began to panic. When he opened his eyes he saw Nikolai looking at him, he did not notice the smile on the man’s face which was one of bewilderment and knowing amusement.

Once Dak’kon realized he wasn’t soaked with cum, there seemed to him only one possibility.

“You haven’t been totally honest with me.” He said forcing Nikolai backwards on the mattress. There was a bit of a struggle because the red head was so thoroughly confused. The struggle caused the gardener’s shirt to slide up his chest, exposing his mid section.

Dak’kon grabbed hold of the man’s boxers and jerked them off. The red head’s morning erection smacked back against his stomach. Nikolai let out a muffled groan. There was nothing wrong with the man’s penis, that was to say there was nothing alien or monstrous about it.

“That must have been one hell of a dream. W-what are we doing again?” Nikolai asked feeling suddenly exposed. Since Dak’kon was still holding fast to his boxers he thought about covering himself with his hands but something in the dark-haired musician’s gaze had stunned him. “I mean I did just wake up…it’s normal.” Was the man mad because he had a boner?

“I thought…” Dak’kon’s brain had stopped working at this point. What the hell was he doing, well he was staring at Nikolai’s cock technically, but why was he doing it? The man’s penis was about 8 inches and perfect. No blemishes, even color, strait up, no bends, cleanly sculpted. All of this information was of course absorbed on an unconscious level. “Did you enter my dreams last night?”

“I don’t remember what I dreamed about last night.” Nikolai admitted sliding up to a seated position he grabbed a pillow for modesty. If this guy was a sex demon then that explained the complicated feelings of attraction he was experiencing. “Did you have a sex dream about me?” Nikolai asked in a tone somewhere between cautious and playful.

“Just get dressed.” Dak’kon sighed throwing the man his boxers. Nikolai stood up, erection still standing proud. He put on his boxers so that the waist band kept it pressed into his body.

“Are you being strait with me about everything to the best of your knowledge?” He asked again the dream had felt too real to deny it.

“I don’t know…my head…is kind of mixed up but if I am lying it’s not intentional.” Nikolai sounded sincere and Dak’kon felt compelled to believe him.

“Okay and yes I think it was you I was dreaming about.” He answered. “And no I won’t describe it to you.” He added grinning uncomfortably at the other man.