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“Easy little thing.”

Easylittlethingeasylittlethingeasylittlething. The words looped in your mind like a broken record. You were easy, easy and little and kneeling with your jaw wide open for the big, scary man standing above you. A Great Terrible Thing in the shape of a man, you corrected yourself. He wasn’t human, he couldn’t be- there was no familiarity behind his eyes, no trace of recognition in his smile, no sense of warmth in his touch. Just a shell moving through the motions. But you had been so drawn to him: his eyes, his words, his smell. He hadn’t done anything decidedly unique, but the way he looked at you, beckoned you to follow him, taunted you to play with him, made your head spin and thighs tremble.

He had pulled you into his home, a vacant, abandoned thing smelling of whiskey and stale oil; gave you a look, and you fell away from your clothes; another look, and you were at your knees before him, eyes cinched shut and hands rubbing up his legs uselessly as his large hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, pushed you closer to him. You felt your face get smothered by fabric, and that smell, sickly sweet and musky like smoke, like rot, made you whimper. Easy little thing, he teased. You wanted more. Wanted to feel it inside you. You pressed your lips against the fleshy firmness of his rounded gut, moved lower as he groaned. Your tongue rolled outward and licked long, sloppy stripes until you felt nails—no, claws—digging into the back of your head.

“Fuck,” he growled. “So fuckin’ needy for old Mister Gray, aren’t you? Want it so bad, don’t you, sweet thing? Want to feel it slither down your throat, huh? Needy pet. Fill you up with it.” He let out an unnatural, low giggle, one that rumbled deep in his belly and shivered down your spine. “Come on, then,” He hissed. “Take it. Take. It.”

With a sharp grip on your hair, he allowed you to undress him enough to pull his cock out, stroke it to attention. Something in the back of your mind screamed that there was no way your jaw could stretch around it, he was too big and you were too small, you couldn’t. But as he slowly, deliberately forced your lips around him, it did. The stretch was agonizingly divine, and your jaw buzzed in static, shimmering pleasure. He was throbbing, lethal and dripping, and as you felt his length bottom out deep into your throat, it suddenly became too much too fast and you ripped away, gagging and coughing as your scalp stung with white-hot pain.

He laughed at you, a gibbering, cackling nightmare of a sound that made you want to curl up into a little ball. “Silly, silly baby. Tiny, stupid thing. Wanted Daddy real bad, hm? Hm? Poor thing. Maybe you’re too small for old Bob Gray after all.” You could hear the pout in his voice, see your hair and your blood dripping from his fingertips, fingertips that travelled up the length of his cock as he rolled his head back and groaned. “Can’t even take care of a dirty old man. Stupid slut. What a dumb fuckin’ baby.”

“Please!” you cried, pawing at his legs like a puppy. “Please, sir—”

P-puh-leeeze, sir!” He mocked, bellowing another vicious cackle that made you weep. “Prove to me you want it, sweet cheeks. Stop disappointing me. Take it like a real whore.”

You nodded shakily and let him enter your mouth once more. Tears rolled down your face and whines bubbled in your throat as he guided your head up and down his length, so molten and massive you could feel it burning in your sinuses. He was nowhere near patient, nowhere near kind; the force of his hands shoving down and hips bucking up was brutal, tearing. You were certain the lining of your esophagus was shredded and you would feel the agony in the morning, but you had never felt such pleasure before. Something eldritch and divine rolled its great body forward, decided that you were appointed to do this, to be fucked like a toy made of flesh and blood, and you craved it, you needed it. Your hand darted between your legs, and you moaned at your own dripping wetness. You could stay like this forever, you decided, on your knees with a bleeding scalp and a bleeding throat and a jaw stretched to oblivion, waves of animalistic pleasure pulsating through your core, and then-

easylittlefuckingthinggoddamnsofuckintightdisgustinglittlewhorefuckfuckingshit

A string of curses fell from the-Thing-in-a-shape-of-a-man’s mouth as he shoved your head down as far as it could go. His seed splattered against the back of your throat, icy cold and potent and tasting like salt. A dark chuckle, and you fell limply away from him, body crumpled on the floor like a discarded doll. You turned your head and spit up come.

“Good pet,” he sighed, more of an affirmation to himself than a means of praise. “Not too bad after all, ha-ha, not too bad…” He lowered himself atop you, nudging your thighs open with his own, resting his elbows on either side of your head. He was close, so horribly close and big you had to turn your head away. You could feel the hot wetness of his tongue, the lightest graze of the sharpest teeth against your neck. It wasn’t delicate, wasn’t romantic, couldn’t be. He was tasting you. Salting the meat, savoring the morsel. The gruff whisper of his voice sent warm chills up your back:

“But the pet isn’t done.”

Without warning, without sympathy, he entered you. A feral scream ripped from your throat- God, he’s so big, too big, too full. You pawed at his chest, trying to get him to let up, go slow, but he doesn’t listen. Constant, ruthless fucking, pushing your body into the rotting carpet with each thrust. His teeth sunk into the softness of your shoulder, gnawed until you bled, moved up your neck and down your arm. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back. Perhaps it was the blood loss, or the blinding pain in your jaw, or the surge of overstimulated hormones, but it felt as though your soul was peeling away from the inside of your skin, ready to float up, up, up like a balloon. It was heavenly and serene, and you let your arms wrap around the big, scary man’s neck, trying to pull him closer. You wanted more, needed to be a good pet for him.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” he muttered into your neck. “Feel it… Feel it changing you? You want it, don’t you, sick little puppy. Want it so bad, you’ll do anything for it. Fill you up with it. Belly full of my spawn.”

He was falling apart. Useless babbles fell from him as the rhythm of his hips stuttered and slowed. A chill spread from your core and up into your stomach as he came once more. This time it would take. You knew it would. Thoughts of a bloated belly stuffed with dark creatures, clawing and fighting for space, tearing their way out of your used body filled you with anxious excitement. Something clicked in your head and you knew: This is your purpose. And as you lay on the cold floor, staring up at his form pulling away and leaving you, a giddy chuckle burst from your chest.