CONTENT WARNING: sexual content, monster sex
"O-open myself?" Pascal asked quietly, glancing between the jar and Daenris.
If you are not opened and prepared, Daenris explained, taking one of Pascal's hands and gently guiding it to his hole, this will bleed and tear. You will hurt. You will require medical attention.
Pascal's eyes widened and he swallowed thickly. "O-Oh."
Oil slicks the way, Daenris went on, guiding Pascal's hand to the jar, and you do not have talons that will slice your flesh far too readily.
The boy nodded, biting his lip again. "R-right. That's a— a fair assessment…."
Pascal stared at his hand slick with the oil and parted his fingers, watching the oil slide down his digits. The god watched him for several moments before Pascal lowered his fingers between his legs. With flushed cheeks, Pascal pressed against his entrance with one digit, experimentally, and shuddered at the sensation.
Gently, little lamb, Daenris murmured as he stroked his knuckles across Pascal's arm. With his other hand, he traced the curve of Pascal's waist to his nipples. One talon traced the dark areola before depressing the nub. Pascal hissed and shuddered, his fingers trembling against his hole.
Let me help you, the god said, his hand covering Pascal's. Daenris guided the slick digits, circling the oil around the outside of his passage. Then, the god slid the first of Pascal's fingers into the boy's hole with gentle pressure. His other hand rubbed and tugged at Pascal's chest, splitting Pascal's focus.
Humming, the god suddenly tugged Pascal to sitting and moved behind the boy. The new position forced Pascal's finger in deeper, and the boy groaned at the intrusion. Daenris settled Pascal against his chest, between his legs. This gave the god better access to Pascal's chest and a better angle to guide his fingers inside his passage.
Relax, little lamb, Daenris murmured, and remember to breathe. Pull your finger out slowly, then push it further inside… Yes, like that. Again. Increase your pace. Good, just like that. Keep doing that.
As Pascal obeyed his god-husband, Daenirs rubbed and pinched Pascal's chest. His talons pricked the hardened buds in the center, almost to the point of drawing blood.
Pascal hissed at the pressure, but then Daenris guided a second slick finger into Pascal's hole. The boy winced as the second finger aligned with the first.
Spread your fingers as you pull them out, then push them in together, the god instructed. Pick up the pace as your body gets used to the feeling… Good, just like that. You're doing well, little lamb.
The boy's back arched as he obeyed, feeling his stomach fill with heat. He tried to close his legs as the pressure built, but with the god's muscular arm between his legs, he could only press his trembling knees against Daenris's arm.
Hook your fingers here, where my thumb is pressing, Daenris murmured.
When Pascal obeyed, pleasure exploded through his veins, and he cried out, curling forward. The boy trembled and twisted, but Daenris would not let his hand retreat from pleasuring himself.
Your pleasure center, the god explained as his fingers continually soothed over Pascal's body. Do not fear it, little lamb. It is a part of you and will bring your pleasure to heights you have yet to explore.
Pascal had no doubts about that. Stars danced in his vision. When the god encouraged him to keep going, Pascal did and soon found himself leaning against Daenris. Shuddering and trembling, Pascal pressed a third finger in, spreading them as he was told and curling them to brush that pleasure center. Daenris praised and encouraged him until the heat built to unbearable levels.
I want you to cum while touching yourself, Daenris murmured. The god took Pascal's other hand and curled it around the boy's cock. Show me how you touch yourself while you keep preparing yourself.
Lost in the pleasure, Pascal shivered and pressed his face into the god's neck. But he obeyed, grabbing his cock and tugging on the heated flesh. Pascal’s back arched, and he moaned into the god's flesh. His breath came in gasps as he penetrated himself with his fingers and tugged at his cock. The new sensations coupled with the god's praise—and gaze—brought Pascal to completion with a cry. White streams of viscous cum splattered his chest and belly.
Daenris trailed a talon through the splattered mess and brought it to his mouth with a satisfied hum. A long, thick tongue snaked out and tasted the cream.
Pure. Sweet. Innocent. Daenris murmured, nuzzling Pascal's neck. A reflection of yourself. And you are ready, I think, to complete our union.
Pascal could only pant and gasp for air as the god gently removed his fingers from his quivering hole. Daenris cradled Pascal in his arms before laying the boy on his stomach with the pillow beneath his hips. Sharp talons ghosted over-sensitive, heated flesh and parted the boy's ass to reveal the trembling opening.
The god's cock stood hard and leaking, proudly pointing towards Pascal's glistening entrance. Using one hand to slick himself and guide his cock forward, Daenris used gravity to sink slowly into Pascal's pliant hole.
The boy cried out at the girth, far more than three—or even four—fingers. He scrambled at the fur blankets, clutching at them, even as Daenris held his hips in place.
Relax, little lamb… Daenris murmured. Breathe.
The god pulled back slightly before pushing in again, further. Again, he repeated the movement; each time, Pascal yelped and cried out as the god sank impossibly still further.
Once fully seated inside of Pascal, Daenris nuzzled the boy's shaking, sweating shoulders.
Breathe, little lamb… it's all the way inside, the god murmured, his talons digging into Pascal's hips—on the cusp of breaking the skin.
"I-it— it hurts," Pascal groaned, shaking. Tears welled in his eyes as each inch of the god's girth and length spread him beyond what he thought he could take.
Allow the pain to turn to pleasure, Daenris replied. Breathe. Feel me. Feel our connection. Let me in.
The god's talons ran up and down Pascal's sides and back, soothing the boy as he adjusted to the unfamiliar sensations. Pascal shuddered as he leaned into the touches, taking gasping breaths.
There… Good boy. I am going to move now, the god murmured, his talons returning to Pascal's hips.
With that serving as his only warning, Daenris tugged his shaft free until just the tip remained inside. A shudder rolled through Pascal as the god's girth stilled at the edge—then he cried out as the god thrust forward. Stars exploded in his sight as the ridges, veins, and hardened flesh massaged his insides and brushed over his sensitive nerves. The god picked up a quick rhythm with short jabs into Pascal, ensuring he hit the boy's prostate each time. Then the rhythm changed to long, punishingly slow thrusts.
Pascal's cries turned to gasping moans as his husband's cock reached to areas inside him the boy never thought existed. Yelps, cries, bodily shudders, and dips of his back—the boy writhed beneath Daenris, experiencing all of the god as he claimed his bride. Cum painted the furs and Pascal's stomach over and over as the night dragged on. Daenris filled his bride with the hot seed of a god.
Pascal vaguely remembered the feel of Daenris as the god cleaned him before tucking the furs around the boy. When Pascal finally woke, Daenris was nowhere to be seen; but the boy lay wrapped in clean furs, and the only evidence of their wedding night came from the painful twinge of his lower back and ass as the boy attempted to leave the comfort of the furs.
Groaning, Pascal tugged a pillow into his arms and shut his eyes again. His cheeks flushed as he remembered the god's talons clutching him tightly, the cries that flew from his lips, the fire-hot cum as it filled his insides. Biting his lip, the boy trailed a hand down to his crotch, feeling the beginnings of arousal. He squeezed his thighs together as he remembered the god teaching him to prepare himself, to pleasure himself. A shudder of pleasure rolled down his spine, and he wrapped a hand around his cock.
A couple quick tugs told him that wasn't going to be enough. Taking a shuddering breath, Pascal let his hand wander from his cock, past his balls, to the sensitive, swollen hole of his ass. He pressed against the spot, and his cock jolted. Swallowing, the boy pushed a finger inside, past the swollen ring, and exhaled as discomfort and pain spread from the intrusion. Wincing, he pulled his finger free and wrapped his arms back around the pillow.
It had hurt—Pascal remembered that clearly—but it had also felt so good. Just recalling it had his body squirming with desire. His cock leaked with need, but he didn't think his hole could take another session so soon. Not after the god had ravaged him all night.
A knock had the boy lifting his bedraggled head from the pillow. What appeared to be two humanoids came in through the vines and odd doors. One resembled a willowy woman with long, oily black hair and a ragged shift who hovered above the ground. The other appeared as a young, beautiful woman with petite bat-like wings, curled blonde hair, and a voluminous figure. The two bowed to Pascal.
"We have been assigned to serve you, Honored Wife," the blonde woman said, "I am called Risith, and this is Vera. We've come to help you bathe and dress."
Pinking, Pascal gingerly sat up. His ass burned as he attempted to move, and the boy tugged the furs up over his body.
"I-is it bad form to stay in bed today?" Pascal asked quietly, looking down at the fur blankets.
"Oh, my, are you feeling alright, Honored Wife? Shall we call for the shaman?" Risith asked as she hurried to Pascal's bedside.
Pascal blushed darker and shook his head. "N-No, it's okay, just — just some rest, and I'll be fine. Promise."
"No, no, this won't do. You're bright red! Vera, go fetch the shaman," Risith ordered. Before Pascal could say ‘no’ again, the willowy woman disappeared through the floor. The boy's mouth dropped open at the sight, and he squeaked, jolting back.
"Oh, don't worry, Honored Wife. Vera will be back soon with the shaman. In the meantime, please just lay back and relax," Risith said, pushing Pascal’s shoulder to lie back down. "You stay put, Honored Wife. Let us take care of everything. Master would be cross if anything were to happen to you."
Pascal obediently laid back, trying not to wince as his backside twinged. Risith, however, must have seen the wince as she twittered and tugged the blankets tighter around Pascal.
Moments later, Vera drifted through the door, followed closely by an old, goat-legged satyr dressed in leathers and furs with feathers and beads in his hair and beard. The satyr quickly went to Pascal's bedside.
"This is Shaman Cruut," Risith introduced.
The shaman nodded at Pascal and said in a slow voice, "What ails you, Honored Wife?"
Pascal’s cheeks burned at the thought of even trying to mention it, but he managed to stutter out, "J-just tired. Really."
Risith tutted. "Shaman, our Honored Wife doesn't wish to show weakness. Can you do a general healing incantation?"
Shaman Cruut nodded sagely, stroking his beard. Then the shaman placed a hand on Pascal's flushed forehead. A soft, warm glow bloomed from his hand for several moments, spreading warmth through Pascal's veins. Then the hand was gone, and the shaman stroked his beard again.
"You will feel better momentarily, Honored Wife," Shaman Cruut said in his slow voice. He then bowed his head to Risith and Vera before turning and leaving the room.
"How do you feel, Honored Wife? Better?" Risith asked, studying Pascal closely.
Pascal sat up slowly, expecting the pain, but when it didn't come, he smiled up at Risith. "Yes, I'm fine now. Whatever Shaman Cruut did, did the trick."
"Wonderful! I'll go and prepare a bath for you," Risith said, then turned to Vera, "gather our Honored Wife's clothing. Master wants him to meet with the other Honored Wives, so he must look his best!"
Then Risith hurried off through an archway, and the sound of splashing water drifted to Pascal's ears. Vera floated to an odd curtain of vines on one side of the room, parting the vines and sorting through the clothing behind them. After several moments, Risith came back and smiled.
"Your bath is ready, Honored Wife," she said, her wings fluttering behind her. "Please allow me to wash your back."
Pascal moved to get up from the bed, then flushed as he realized he was still nude. "Uhm… do you have a— a robe, or a towel, or something?"
Risith blinked for several seconds, and Vera twittered.
"A robe? Whatever for? Honored Wife, you will be in the water. That seems counterproductive?" Risith asked with a tilt of her head.
"Uhm… I'd like to cover myself until I get into the bath," Pascal murmured.
Several more moments ticked by before Vera drifted over to Pascal's side and held out a short robe. It would suffice.
Pascal gratefully took the robe and wrapped it around his body. Though the soft fabric only came to mid-thigh, it covered his intimate areas.
After he bathed, he dressed in a tunic, breeches, and boots similar to what he'd arrived in. Then the women escorted Pascal through the manor. Without the distraction of the Master of this place, Pascal’s eyes focused more on the enormous maze-like structure built—no, grown—from the mountainside. Trees, vines, and roots wove together in a myriad dance before his eyes, twining together with the soft glow of the lichen. The airy scents of spicy-sweet vanilla brought his eyes to the lilacs blooming along a grouping of vines. No sunlight filtered through the trees; instead, only silvery moonlight shined through.
"Is the sun not up? Or did I sleep through the day?" Pascal asked as he spied the moons far above them.
"There is no sun here," Risith replied, glancing over her shoulder. "The Master only allows the reign of night and the light of the moons."
"O-oh," Feeling foolish, Pascal shut his mouth. The two women then stepped aside at a vine-covered archway.
"The Honored Wives are through here," Risith said, parting the vines on one side. "Always, they gather here to talk. As the newest Honored Wife, they wait for you."
Pascal nodded and mumbled out his thanks before he ducked through the curtain and hurried inside. Through the archway, a large circular area spread before him. There was no sign of a ceiling, just a green area covered in moss, trees, and flowers. Several cushions sat around low tables, while chairs accompanied tables of the same height. People had already taken spots and spoke in hushed tones to each other. An elderly woman sat knitting in a rocking chair, humming to herself.
"Ah, he's here!" came an excited shout. A woman with a slightly swollen stomach dragged a middle-aged man over towards Pascal. "Welcome! You must be Pascal! I'm Naema, and this is Tomas. Over there is Cassum and Tulie, and knitting in the rocking chair is Lilian. Gabriel won't be coming as he's not feeling very energetic. Come, come, sit with us!"
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