There is an innocence to the whimpers and slow-twisting of limbs as she tries to extricate herself from the binds, ropes, and ties that hold her securely against the large boulder. It is cold and rough against her back, the thin cotton shift scant protection from its impersonal support. She doesn't notice, not when the ropes are chafing her wrists and the not-so clean cloth shoved into her mouth prevented her from crying out.
Trails of cheap mascara run down her face, marring her porcelain skin with ugly gashes of watery black. And her hair, once properly coiffed, is a tangle, a manifestation of her confusion, fear, and anxiety.
She twists again, fruitfully, trying to loosen the bonds holding her arms out to the sides of the boulder, and to free her legs which are bound tightly together at the ankle. The ground is rough but hard, and provids no purchase for heels that try to dig down and provide leverage.
Rustling to the side. She whips her head around, searching the murky darkness for evidence of its origin. Nothing.
Nothing.
Panicking more, now, a sense of urgency as primal adrenaline courses through her veins in response to some unknown threat. Whimpers become cries. Twists become thrashes.
From the darkness steps a looming form, wearing nothing but an engorged erection and a wicked smile. “You’re mine,” it growls, voice raspy from disuse.
Screaming now, but still immobile, she can’t tear her eyes from the huge, trident-tipped phallus of the demon.
It chuckles at her futile cries and gyrations.
In one swift move it leans down and grabs the rope at her ankles, pulling her towards itself. She kicks out in a vain attempt to get free but it only serves to amuse the demon, and it chuckles again.
A long, sharp fingernail saws the rope at her ankles apart, letting the musty twine fall to the ground. With one ankle in each hand he pulls her legs apart and leans down to smell her mustiness. A wet, serpentine tongue flicks out sampling her, and his phallus lurches in eager response.
She is screaming now and bucking her hips, knowing she is about to be fucked by the beast that holds her captive. All her energy is spent on getting free, but a part of her knows that freedom is elusive and not to be hers. Not this day.
Still holding her legs firmly, now one on either side of his hips, he moves forward and probes her with his rock-hard tri-tipped penis. The demon moans; a very different sound than the ones she is making.
Without warning, he plunges roughly into her, slamming his hips forward, pushing deep into her, causing her to take all of him. A look of bliss distorts his features, but she doesn't see; she is barely conscious now as his demonhood plunges savagely, beastily, into her again and again.
Faster, harder, his thrusts are leading to his release, and the look on its face is of grisly, distorted pleasure.
He drops a leg and slaps her face with his open hand, jarring her back to reality. Torn asunder she alternates between cries and screams as he thrust his cock, aching for release, a final time deeply, oh-so-deeply into her.
He shudders. And slows.
Pulls out of her and drops her other leg.
Silence.
She cracks an eye open. “Babe, you’re awesome,” she mumbles into the tangled sheets.
“Pretty good yourself, sweets,” he says as he drops down beside her onto the bed, freeing her hands and pulling her close against his chest.
She snuggles up against his familiar warmth, sighing as the tingles and soreness fade into a memory of being ruthlessly, but oh-so-deliciously taken by her demon.
