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a gosling only seeks the warmth of his mother
The rain hits the window hard in its aggression. The storm outside brews and churns. And Nemesis lays, head to the side, hearing her heartbeat through her twin mounds of flesh. Jill’s chest moved in a steady even rhythm, soft flesh slightly rubbing against his, rough, patchy, and torn, exposing his muscles and underlayers of skin. She was near, too near, and he so exposed, and yet the Tyrant lay as a soft hand pet him. The sweat from an earlier intimacy coated their bodies, her finger trailing a moving droplet that rolled from Nemesis’ scalp. His body tried so hard not to tremble from the soft petting; to simply lean into the affection should be enough for her to see from him.
The outside noise that boomed and announced its presence so bluntly was back again, an explosion of wet and loud that made every part of him want to react, to defend, to tear apart what was trying so intently to attack what was his.
A gosling could only watch; a goose would fight to the death for them. Geese are territorial, he was told once. Mother smiled as she explained common animals to us.
Her too-small soft hands pressed along his neck, calloused fingers trailed along it to reach, landing on and stroking the large bulbous appendage found there. Another show of trust; no one should touch there, but his mate wanted to, and so she did. The storm swelled louder, winds berating and whistling against glass windowpanes. Each pelt against glass felt like the turrets of a gun moving and churning at him and then boom goes a loud roll of an explosive, the rumble precluding the lightshow filling and lighting up the sky. And the monster could only grind his teeth, wanting to be safe, wanting to feel warm.
And those soft hands raised up to touch and pull him close as he whines low into her chest.
Protect me; the gosling wants to beg. Keep me from the noisome outside.
And the male nuzzles her in return, feeling the ache of the world leave, needing to escape it and its constant demands that he faces it.
I don’t want to; the gosling wishes to give out a begging call of frustrated need. A gosling hides; it stays underwing where it belongs.
A clumsy hand grips and envelops a pale thigh, marked with evidence of numerous claims already fading away. That hand moves downward, eye glowing in the dark as he examines, strokes her - his safety, his space by right. Teeth had begun to nip the curve of her breast, already drawing thin trickles of red. The color reminded him that she still breathed, still was here. He lapped at the gift, tongue rough, leaving lines of drool as he supped on her.
A gosling grew ever fat on the nurturing of a mother.
A mother allows for this, allows him to feel warm, safe, and protected her wings always spread for him. Thighs would have to suffice as he slipped his drifting hand between them, the coils of tentacles parting them. The blond was fully exposed this way: her soft breasts welcomed his teeth, her belly hardened from work that held the faint history of when it was swollen with his life, to the scant trail of pubic hair nearly covered by his arm. His Everything arched as his finger invaded and twisted inside.
That finger was replaced with another, her opening eagerly taking his two. Then a snake entered, then another, and another as he pushed her open, tentacles slick and glistening with her. Some of them pushed upwards, bulging out her belly, now having visibly moving trails between each gap of muscle that framed her abdomen. Jill arched and writhed, her gasps chasing the loud booms of the rain. Her explosions of breath covered up the ones in his mind that threatened to have him again curled up and vulnerable on the bed.
His tendrils coiled more and more, and he sank into his discoveries of her, feeling warm, feeling safe, her very existence protecting him from the thoughts, the unwanted memories that wanted to return. He was the one to invade; he was built to invade - no one else has that right. Nemesis pushed his tendrils inside her upwards harder, coiling against a spot within, making her create a lake for him underneath.
A gosling swims and swims, ever searching for mother’s warmth.
He could feel her flesh giving in to him, allowing the Tyrant further access. A soft hand grips his arm, slick and writhing, moving with the male inside and out of slits along his skin. Jill’s eyes were wide and glassy, her body shaking, and her cheeks flushed red. His mate’s mouth was parted open; a loud outside rumble, and she gasped in response, throat bared as she shuddered and mewled helplessly. The monster curls up to that face, lapping the sweat that trailed down her neck, then covers it and encases it with his teeth. He hovers over her like this, like a viper, drooling, itching to bite down.
A gosling knows how to instinctively forage, and he searches constantly for any part of her to have.
She screams out as he moves, pushing deep within her so many tendrils. The Tyrant spread himself inside her opening, taking her farther then further past till he could rest within her warm, unhatched clutch. Jill shudders and trembles as she coats the sheets, thighs bruising themselves from trying to fight his tentacles holding her tight. He does not stop; he never wants to stop as he coils and coils her screams more soothing than the booming phantoms of ordinance that begged him to war. Nemesis could feel a few tentacles coiling on themselves back out of her warm, giving womb, fucking that internal entrance making it from observation hurt with burn and yet please with each writhing coil smaller than the most hesitant skin pore.
Her fingernails were trying to bite into his skin, a futile thing, but it made him shudder all the same. She had long thrashed in his grip, the sweet taste of blood tempting him. Nemesis lifts his head, letting a long tongue taste that freed shedding of life to look into her eyes, silver blue hazy with lust, colored by fear. A glare met those eyes as he pushed and pushed, her mouth trying to gape open and make words that the female was trying to call and squawk.
But a mother goose does not yell; she nurtures and provides tall tales to soothe.
Tendrils push from between gasping lips, the movement seen originating under the skin of her throat. They trail and curl and force her lips closed, the threading between plump flesh, a soft pain that caused a few tears but no more screams.
The monster tastes one such tear and tastes her fear; how comforting it is to see. Her slit was pulsing, gushing still; his cock throbbed, wanting still. But what moved still was the tendrils inside that had long replaced his fingers, sliding their slick-covered trail along her inner thigh. He was content with his tentacles pushing and pulling and twisting inside her like a fist as she writhed helplessly at his mercy. Jill fed him her warmth, her safe warmth that made him feel so safe as he rose. Nemesis leans over her; his mate’s body trembles and shakes, eyes dilated, body sensitive as his free hand pushes her down. Her eyes glittered with tears as he licked across his teeth, hungry, too hungry to stop. Fear and want scented in the air, her muffled whimpers lingering with them. Tendrils lifted those bruised childbearing thighs up just so, and he canted his hips and sank home.
Jill shakes from the intrusion, screams trapped between sewn-shut lips. Her eyes roll back as he thrusts into her with a needy brutality. The large hand on her belly presses down again, and the monster growls, groans out in a song of predatory desire of conquest as his other hand sends out its tendrils wrapped around his cock deep and deeper still inside, filling her cunt; that same hand rubbed the little nub she hides in her flesh a poorly kept secret that he abused with brutal efficiency.
She looks at him, her sounds trapped behind sewn-shut lips as he thrusts and thrusts, the wet noises between them increasing in intensity. A tremor of pride rose in him as he could see at rest the shape of his tip, him molding her belly yet again. A part of him faintly realizes she has stopped gripping her nails along him, her hands having drifted to her sides. He misses that small connection, even if it’s out of reflex.
So, he leans down, dwarfing her in every movement, gripping her face in his free hand, and licks across those faintly bleeding lips. That fear in her eyes held the fire of pleasure behind them; by tomorrow, they will be filled with pleased ignorance, her memories his to forage and reject. When he has her, just like this - conquered with Jill gifting him her warm body, her safe body, the protection of her, all her blanketing him from the real world - he thrusts deep, deep enough to carve out a path just for him.
That path was in the shape of him, writhing and expanding, ever-expanding. From the tendrils that pushed up under his foreskin to the ones that swarmed through and under his cock, to the larger mass that swelled and filled to keep all of him from dribbling out of her warm, comforting hole, Nemesis gave Jill his all. White fills his vision as he roars; in return for her gifts, he fills her full of life: a life filled with his want, his care, and his eggs.
A gosling becomes a gander; what gander doesn’t [lay] lie for their goose?