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He holds you close, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck, his long, tangled blue-black hair mixing with yours. He: corrupted, tainted, scarred. You: pristine, glowing, human. But somehow, it works. He longs for the purity, the wholeness. You long for the dark—are drawn to it, enticed by it. You will not become it, just as he will not become the light. But you will take it into yourself for a time. Sometimes. You will walk that line, skirt that edge. And so will he.
He enfolds you in his arms; they are strong and firm, yet somehow, still yielding. His heat is one of your favorite things about him. With him wrapped around you, pressed into your back, there is no need for coverings; his massive wings serve as a shelter, holding in the heat. Being with him like this, cocooned together like this, is like basking in the sunlight. His warmth permeates your skin, seeping into your deepest recesses, quieting your mind and calming your heart.
His slow, deep breathing soothes you and fills you with a joy so profound it’s almost painful. What more could you want than to rest like this, with him, forever?
Well…maybe something more.
His hand brushes your skin, trailing down your neck until it reaches the gentle swell of your breasts, where it continues to lightly trace your flesh. You feel so small beneath his fingertips—each a warm, pillowy point on your skin. You do not want to disrupt the perfection of this moment, but your heart beats just a bit faster, breaking the serenity, calling you to action. And you cannot deny yourself. Something wells up from within your chest, from this heartbeat, flowing out through the rest of you, demanding that you answer his call.
At its insistence, you turn your head sideways, just a bit, increasing the contact with his. He turns, and your lips meet, the feeling so familiar, so perfect. The sensation in your chest intensifies, your heartbeat quickening further, as his arms grasp you tighter, his body pressing more firmly into yours.
You turn around so you can kiss him fully, then wrap a leg around his waist, trying to regain the closeness you lost. Your hands are now free to hold his face, and cupping his large but perfectly proportioned jaw, you kiss him slowly, treasuring the action. Your brows knit together in concentration and longing. Wrapping your arms around his chest, your hands explore his broad back, finally clasping the base of his wings. You bury your face in his neck and drink in his scent, giddy and overwhelmed with the simple joy of the moment. He laughs softly, cradling the back of your skull in his claw, and you swear there is nothing more you could want from life than this right here.
But the being in your chest will not let that be it. It demands more, urging you on, and you allow your hands to graze down his torso until you feel the sharp bones and taut muscles of his hips beneath your fingertips, your palms. You kiss him again, differently this time, letting your lips break apart, flicking your tongue over his gently, letting it linger in the air between you.
He growls and engulfs your mouth with his, releasing his tongue and letting it fill you—taking, taking. Your head falls back as your nails dig into his sides then move to his waistband, untying it hurriedly, pulling his pants down over the firm muscle of his buttocks and releasing his heavy erection. The monster in your chest rejoices at the thought of taking in his impressive girth, and your walls begin to spasm in anticipation, becoming slick with desire. Your hands release his pants, leaving them halfway down, and grasp the muscle of his ass, pressing his body into yours—again, simply savoring. That this man is here, and he is yours. For right now, this is all yours. The thought makes you salivate.
Reluctantly releasing the tempting flesh of his backside, you move your hands to the front of his body, to his luscious member caught between you, and stroke up the back of it, pressing the front into your stomach. He moans and begins undoing your pants now, untying your light sleeping shorts and peeling them down over your hips. You can barely contain your excitement, your heart hammering in your chest, your breathing becoming frantic.
You kiss him feverishly as he unwraps you—needing, needing. Needing something that you can't get from simply this. But still enjoying. Loving this with him so much it hurts. Yet still wanting more.
He has removed your shorts, and you discard your shirt in an instant, wanting to be bare before him, to feel his body covering yours. This is his time now. His time to shine in darkness. To show you his power. And you want to feel it. You want him to take you over, to have you, to own you. And he does.
It begins thus. He gives you a firm kiss, as if saying goodbye. Then he flips atop you, dragging you roughly into place, parts your lips (those lips), and begins to shove his girth into your hungry cunt. Since this is the first time today, it does take a little patience—he cannot ram the monster in all at once—but the stretching is nonetheless significant as you take in his inches, your nerves thrilling around the throbbing intrusion, wanting to scream or cry at the simple act of joining with him. More and more coats of slick release from your innards, aiding in the process, welcoming him.
When he reaches your terminus, you grasp him tightly, enjoying for a moment just having him there, the feeling of being so full of him. You breathe deeply and whine at his mere presence. But that is not where it ends. As much as you could remain here, thrilling with him inside you, he knows that there is more required to bring you to full satisfaction. And he will make sure it happens.
He places a strong hand across your neck, showing you that he is in charge now—that he has this situation under control, and that you must trust him. You do. You let him force you back into the bed, your eyes fluttering, as his hips slide back then snap forward, colliding with yours again. Your flesh slaps together as he drives his rod in as far as it will go, hitting you repeatedly at the end of your channel, filling you so deeply, so well, massaging your walls on each ascent. They throb around him, electrified by the attention.
Your hands long to touch him, to stroke him, but later; now is not the time. He is busy. His wings spread wide over you, his form massive, commanding. You whine again at this spectacle, at his power, begging for more of it, for him to demonstrate it, to take it to its logical conclusion.
“Command me, my lord,” you plead. It is a struggle to speak with his hand at your throat, his rod railing you savagely over and over. He growls.
“Tell me what you want.” It is not a command. Not really.
“I want you to make me come,” you say. “But not yet.”
“Oh? What do you want, then?”
“Flip me, my lord.”
With a slight smirk, and without responding, he pulls out quickly, flips you onto all fours, then rams back into you with such force you nearly go flying forward, but his strong hands stop you, pulling you back by the hips, drawing you to him.
“Like this?” His low, rasping question speeds along your rapidly approaching orgasm. He knows the answer. He asks only to hear you acknowledge it.
“Yes, my lord. Thank you,” you respond breathily.
You are bleeding. It is not a problem, just the way of things, and it makes for interesting post-coital art projects. You smear your fingers along your folds, gathering some of the bright red paint, then reach back to grasp him—anywhere, everywhere. Taking his hips in your long fingers, you claim them with your ink, marking your territory. They are one of your favorite parts of this playground. Pressing your shoulder blades back into his chest, you tangle your hands in his thick hair. You leave fingerprints everywhere. He snarls. The animalistic nature of it excites him. And the scent. You’re not sure what it smells like to his enhanced senses, but you know he likes it. He growls and ruts into you yet more viciously.
“Unghh!” you cry, so close to climax now. “Illidan! Command me!!” You are becoming more desperate.
“Not yet,” he says with a devilish grin, withholding your pleasure. He does this. He holds you back by magical means until your need is so great that your desperation intensifies the climax to degrees you wouldn’t have thought possible. You hiss. He likes that too. Turning his little ray of light into something feral, something dark. If for but a few moments.
He wraps a large arm across your chest in a gesture of control, holding you against him at an angle he knows drives you absolutely wild. His rigid cock pierces you harshly, repeatedly, inciting the release that somehow still eludes you as he keeps you right on the point of breaking. You cry out over and over with the stress of it; it is maddening, wanting that last piece of satisfaction. Yet some part of you craves this madness because it knows that when he finally sets you free, it will be that much more earth-shattering. You force yourself to quell your cries, panting in distress.
“Goooood,” he croons in your ear. “That’s more like it. We can’t be jumping ahead now, can we? We don’t want to skip any important steps.” He punctuates his words with harsh, savage thrusts of his hips. He lets his snarls fill your ears, and the heat of his breath on your neck sets you aflame, traveling up and down your spine, radiating throughout your body.
You’ve forgotten to retrieve your bit tonight. You wish you had something to bite down on, to vent at least a fraction of the tension.
“Next time, Love,” he whispers in your ear, almost apologetically, reading your thought. The unexpected softness melts you, making you even more receptive to the sensations he continues to ignite within you. He places a hand to your mouth in what will do in a pinch, and you clamp down on a thick finger. Your tiny teeth can do no more than poke his rough skin, at most needling him and spurring him on to greater heights of harshness. As you see it, this is a win-win.
He alters the pace, slowing down to enter you deeply and completely at a calculated angle, sliding smoothly within you, breaking you down stroke by stroke, further testing your sanity with taunts at your predicament. You allow yourself to cry out again, and he muffles the sound roughly with his large palm. But he enjoys hearing you vocalize your longing too much to leave you like this for long.
“Tell me what you want,” he demands again, removing his hand from your mouth and allowing you to speak freely.
“You KNOW what I want!” you snap, frustrated.
“Say it anyway.” His voice takes on a menacing tone. He tightens the arm that restrains you, bringing it up to your neck. You can hear the sinister grin in his voice, and it breaks you that much more. You can practically see it in your mind’s eye; perhaps he is even placing it there.
“I want you, my lord,” you choke out, complying. “All of you. I want you to release me. And I want you to join me.”
His deep, deliberate thrusts lift your smaller body on each ascent, your throat tensing against his restraining limb.
“Hmm,” he mutters as if considering. He has moved a long, clawed finger to the spot between your legs, rubbing it smoothly, heightening this mania even further, bringing you to fever pitch. Your eyelids flutter. You begin to feel lightheaded.
“Please, my shadow,” you beg him quietly. You have dropped all games now. This is when he knows you are serious. “You know I can come more than once. I will come over and over for you; I won’t be able to stop. Please, let me.”
“Yes, my darling.” He lets his arm fall from around your neck, dropping his games as well, unable to deny you in your sincerity. “Go on then, COME.”
You scream at an incredible volume as the force of the orgasm finally tears through you. It lights all of your nerves on fire, your momentary weakness obliterated in the heat of this surge. He groans deeply as you come undone, nearly letting himself go as well, barely hanging on.
“FUUCCK!” you exclaim, pounding back into his hips, falling over onto your elbows, clenching him so hard you can’t stop. And now all you want is for him to join you. You promised him more, but there will be time yet.
“Just let go, Illidan. I know you are there. We can go another round. Come with me. I want you to fill me. Unngh. Please, let me have all of you.”
He groans as your words break his willpower and unleash exactly what you desire, his thick seed filling your swollen cunt as it continues to throb and squeeze his spurting staff.
“Uhhhhh,” you moan and shiver as his potency fills you, loving the feeling of being so claimed by him, by this man who can do anything he wants with you. Have anything he wants. Tie you up upside down, you don’t care. But he doesn’t. Usually.
But now you want more. These thoughts, this use. Luckily, he is a demon. Well, partly anyway. And adept at magic. Reluctantly, you slide off of his pulsing cock, now dripping with various fluids, and turn around to face him with a coy, falsely innocent smile.
“Baby…I have an idea. Could you do something else for me?”
He does not respond but regards you warily, wondering what you have up your sleeve.
“Will you get up for me again, please, Baby? I want you to fuck me in the ass now.” You give him your sweetest smile, gazing up at him from beneath long lashes, your hand wrapped firmly around his half-erect pole, and bite your lip. His chest heaves and his penis pulses, rising slightly. You smirk triumphantly.
“Thank you, Baby,” you say, continuing your flimsy charade. You wrap your dirty hands around his biceps and kiss him fiercely, your tongue filling his mouth. Then you turn around again, pressing your ample ass into his growing erection, begging him to have his way with you.
He extends two long fingers, bringing them between your folds, pulling away some of the wetness still pooled there, then slides them back to your tight hole, teasing it, playing, as his cock continues to rise and harden. You whine and writhe as he stimulates the sensitive nerve endings.
“Fuck, Illidan,” you moan breathily, “I hope you will have another large load, because I am ready to take it in.”
He growls again in response (he is rather fond of that), inserting his two long digits, causing you to arch your back.
“Yes,” you gasp, ravenous. “More, more!” He inserts a third finger, and you squeeze them in anticipation. “More!”
“My, you are very impatient today,” he laughs.
“I want you,” you say simply. He groans in response to this unadorned statement of need and decides that, if you feel ready, you must be ready. Taking more of the mix of lubricant from between your thighs, he smears his instrument in the slick substance and slowly begins to force it through your rear entrance.
You cry, “YES! Yes! Fuuuuck,” as he fills you up, overwhelmed by the sensation of his formidable cock stretching you so crudely, loosening you and making you his. Again.
“Yes, Illidan, use me, fucking make me yours.” He snarls at this, and slaps the side of your ass with a huge, stinging palm. “Ahhh!” The pain causes you to cry out in pleasure. “Just destroy me, my master!” He growls again.
“BE QUIET,” he says, silencing you—not because he minds the noise, but because he knows you want to be subjugated. You long to say, “Yes, Lord Illidan,” but you cannot, so you dutifully remain silent, awaiting the tantalizingly fierce words that you know are sure to follow.
“You like that, don’t you, sslaaave?" he hisses out slowly, his eyes flaring. "Is this how you want to be fucked? Do you want me to beat you? Control you?” He slaps you painfully again in the same spot, making your skin smart, as he rams his enormous member into your tight hole, continuing to achingly stretch and loosen you. Tears flow freely down your bereft face as you struggle against his mental restraints, unable to respond.
“ANSWER ME!!” he roars.
“YES, Lord Illidan!” you scream, equally loudly, finally freed from his spell. “I want you to fuck me and use me and hurt me until I can’t think anymore.”
“Then I shall. Now SHUT UP, SLUT.”
You know that he cares for you, loves you, would do anything for you. Why you want him to treat you this way, you don’t quite understand. But you do. And so does he. So you play your game. This delicious game that wrings every last bit of sanity from your mind and longing from your body.
Yes! Fuck me, Lord Illidan! you yell with your mind, your voice having been silenced.
“I told you to BE QUIET,” he says fiercely, stopping even this ability. His hips slap repeatedly into yours and he grasps you by the hair, snapping your head back, pulling you up toward him, and you reach back to brace yourself with his horns. Again, one of his claws slips down between your legs and harshly teases the point between them, bringing you to the precipice of another profound orgasm that he cruelly chooses to deny you. You begin sobbing in earnest when you feel him cut you off from your peak, and you can't stop more tears from streaming down your cheeks. He flicks his long tongue out, licking them away.
“It's difficult, isn’t it? Being so close but not able to come. Do you want me to let you come? ANSWER ME.”
“Yes, Illidan,” you say breathlessly, finding your voice again.
“Yes, who?” he growls.
“Yes, Master!”
He rumbles his approval. “Then tell me what I am to you.”
“You are everything, Master. You are my lord. My king. My savior. My desire. My satisfaction. You are everything to me, Illidan.”
He hammers into you harshly for several more thrusts, keeping you in suspense as he pursues his own finish. When you sense that it is upon him, he responds in a very different tone.
“And you are everything to me, my dear,” he whispers hoarsely in your ear, kissing your cheek as he releases his spell. Your climax explodes as he unleashes his own with a deep groan, pumping you full of his seed, his fel spend blasting into your rectum as you take it all in thirstily with a long, quavering cry.
You fall back to all fours, breathing heavily, refocusing your eyes, trying not to pass out. He reaches down and draws you back to him, holding you securely—this used, beautiful doll, limp in his massive arms. He checks you over with his sight, making sure there is no damage, making sure you are strong enough to go on. Then he slowly removes his slick member from your wasted hole. A gush of fluid follows in its wake, somehow still turning you on, though you are so depleted.
Turning you around gently, he gives you a soft kiss before gathering you into his arms. You wrap your weak legs loosely around his waist, and he carries you to the bath, setting you in the tub while letting the water run. You lie back and admire him contentedly, smiling. He smiles back.
“Take a moment for yourself, and when you’re ready, join me in the shower.”
“Mmm,” is all the response you can muster. But after lying in the warm water for several minutes without moving, you know that you do not want a moment for yourself.
Illidan.
Yes, Love.
Will you help me?
Of course.
He steps back into the room and smiles indulgently at your lazy form and sheepish grin.
“Maybe I need to take it easier on you next time.” His expression turns slightly pensive and guilty.
“Please don’t.”
“As you wish.” He smiles softly and lathers a bath puff, lifting you with one hand, moving you as needed to wash you gingerly. As he does so, the monster in your chest, shockingly, begins to reawaken, bringing you more energy, more strength.
“I can stand now, I think,” you tell him, and you do, taking a step out of the tub and toward the shower, grabbing his hand. He hesitates a beat, looking unsure of how steady you are, but seems to decide you’re well enough and follows you in.
He has left it running, and the thick steam obscures your vision, making cloudy outlines of you both (well, to you) and impeding your breathing. He turns the dial to cool it down, for which you are grateful. He is hot enough as it is, and you do need air at the moment. You reach up and release his flowing hair from the constricting band high atop his head, letting it glide down around his hulking shoulders, fanning out over his tattoos. He is so beautiful. Scarred, but all the more beautiful for it. And your beautiful, scarred man.
The water washes away the blood, the cum, the slick. You run the soap over each other’s skin, cleansing more than just the surface, putting a stopper on the evening, a conclusion to this tryst. Between the long, cleansing strokes, you kiss—not urgently now, but sweetly, considerately.
He lets you fluff his luxurious dark hair in a thick towel and run your fingers through it as he uses the hairdryer. Once you are clean and dried, you take his hand and lead him back to the bed. You lie facing each other for a few long moments without speaking before you draw closer to him, burying your head in his neck, and close your eyes contentedly. He pulls you into his bulging arms and encases you in his wings once again. Drifting into a thoughtless realm, you kiss the skin of his shoulder lightly, then dissolve into sweet oblivion.