restraint 03

“Shh shh shh, relax your shoulders for me.” It takes a while—you’re poised ready to tear out her pretty white throat—but by degrees you manage to release some of the thrumming tension. “Good, good. And your hips. Let your belly rest on her.” This is easier because you’ve started already. Kilos upon kilos of soft fat mould around her body like she’s already inside. Some of that weight is not just fat but the structures inside, like the viscera she might slick her way through later.

“There, that looks good. Safewords are the usual green, yellow and red, by the way.” The fist in your hair relaxes and begins to stroke along your ebony waves. Being petted is a strange counterpoint to having a living being in your literal jaws.

It’s hard to focus. All your senses are saturated with her. Blonde hair scatters over the duvet twisted beneath her; her gag-muffled pleading is right by your ear; every struggle ripples through your smothering fat; her perfume and terror fill your nostrils; her blood is literally already on your lips.

Your jaw begins to tighten and in response dull pain blossoms on your back. My fingers dig in and take a handful of the thin layer of pudge there. Somehow—I’ve never understood how—you suppress the urge to turn your fangs on me. Blood-lust makes your hands open and close like claws, frustrated by the knowledge of food so very close.

That knowledge brings hunger. Both kinds. Now that you have relaxed my hand completes its journey down your back. Your legs, compliantly opened, reveal a furnace every bit the equal of the one you crave to drag this poor girl into. I plunge two fingers between your folds, caressing those lips and watching your jaw muscles to ensure your other lips don’t disobey.

“Good,” I murmur. You arch your back to try to encourage more of the sensation and, since you are obeying, I oblige. We rock together, your hips and I, gliding my fingers up and down your pussy.

The third person present—we just not forget that she is a person—realises what we are doing. It’s hard to tell whether it should make being kidnapped and weirdly molested by a huge women better or worse for her, but she lets out a low moan of dread. It’s not your chief intention, but the rocking of your hips squishes your padded pubis against your lower belly—itself a thrilling feeling as you press against your own exquisite fat—which in turn presses down on your unlucky dinner.

The higher her emotional state, the more rapid her heartbeat. Beneath your lips her skin warms. Beneath her skin, the artery pulses. It’s maddening.

Maybe I will accept the blame if I rock you too hard and you “accidentally” sink your teeth through skin and flesh. You angle your hips to invite me in.

I don’t take the bait. Instead I withdraw, evoking a protesting moan. There is the sound of unzipping a bag and then rummaging through the contents. You don’t realise you were still rocking your hips (and for that matter sucking on the girl’s neck in synchronisation) until my hand returns to your pussy, silicone-cool.

I wank you with whatever it is that I have. It feels smooth and flat, instantly slick thanks to your predatory sensuality; about the size of a chequers piece. It narrows slightly, and its gentle curve makes it fit snugly… ah, yes, right where you narrow too. The tip of it rests against your clit, held in place by your labia.

You’re not entirely surprised when it begins to silently vibrate. A shudder runs through your body and you whimper against the girl’s neck. The tingling sensation makes you crave more.

For a moment, I give it to you. Lubricated by your juices, my two fingers slip inside. You feel your little lollipop girl shiver with fear when you moan against her skin and buck against my hand. I grind against your internal walls and you grind against her. God she’d feel better inside you. Your stomach performs a wet, rolling groan that feels like it starts by your belly button. She begins to cry softly underneath you.

I don’t stop masturbating you but relieve l retrieve something cold, heavy and smooth. You try to look without removing your lips. I meet your eyes and smile wolfishly.

A brief hiatus while I squeeze something sensible and responsible from a bottle and then… ~schklrrp~, the rounded tip of an anal hook presses apart your huge arse cheeks and squeezes its way through your tight little pucker. You yelp and graze the girl’s skin but press down, accepting it greedily.

Somehow I’m tracing the hand christened with your juices up your back. The buzzing at your clit continues and the implement in your backside keeps tension. Rope, you realise. Remote control and rope.

“You’re being very good, Raven,” I murmur as my wandering hand fondles the folds and valleys of your back. We spend a lot of time on your belly, and with good reason, but your back is shapely and sports two enticing deep crevasses under your ribs.

“Her name is Raven.” You’re confused for a moment but remember the meat you’re currently nibbling at is still alive. I must be addressing her. It’s hard to concentrate. Heartbeat. Vibrator. Pressure. Squirming.

“She wants to eat you. Drink your blood, swallow you whole. Alive, if she doesn’t drink you dry. She’s done it before. Hundreds of times that I know about. Thousands, tens of thousands, maybe.

“I’m not gonna lie…” While I talk to her I stroke your hair, like a cat. You growl in the back of your throat, hips twitching and mouth wet with the desire for something to give. “It’s not looking good for you. She wants to eat you. I want her to eat you. Your arms are tied behind your back and you have a ridiculous amount of women pinning you down. But I’ll make you this promise. If you can get out—if you can even touch the door—I’ll let you free. You’ll live. I’ll handle Raven. You tell the police and we have to disappear. But you’ll be alive.”

She had remained still all this time. You don’t quite know why I’m monologuing. And the little pussy-borne vibrator has been slowly winding down, too…

“But I’ll tell you something else.” My voice becomes low and deadly. “Dying won’t end it. Lily. Souls are real and yours will find itself on her fangs or in her stinking guts.” You feel her shivering beneath you. Her pulse flutters against your lips. “No escape ever. No heaven. No happy reunions with loved ones. Just her. Only ever Raven.”

You look up with lidded eyes and steal a glance at her staring ones. She sees in an instant the truth of it. She may as well be looking into drowning pools.

“So fight!” I demand, voice rising stridently. “This is your one chance! Free yourself or die within the next hour—and wish it long before that!”

Oh God, this is what I was doing. She comes alive beneath you. The vibrator kicks up to max gear and turns your legs to jelly. Her whole body writhes beneath you like she’s already eaten like she’s already inside and she tries to bring her chin to her chest but you’re there your fangs are right there and you’re so hungry and—

— She freezes completely. Her terrified heart gushes a hot offering to your mouth and you swallow it by reflex. Shock at having transgressed is dwarfed by joy as she slides down your throat, thick as syrup, raw as meat. Your fangs feel so natural buried in her flesh.

As you swallow the third mouthful of her blood, you wonder: what happens next?