The room seems to darken, thickening with a quiet, dreadful anticipation. His shadows ripple across the floor, merging with the inky patches in the walls, creating an abyss that stretches toward me, as if the room itself waits to witness his submission.
A sick, anger-fueled satisfaction fills me at seeing him obey.
He's controlled me for so long, pulled my strings without my knowing. But now, I hold the power. Now, he'll dance to my tune.
I lift my tank top over my head, quickly unhooking my bra and dropping them to the ground.
Shadow begins to rise.
"Stay," I bark.
He stops.
I'm stepping into the role I was just gifted. So many emotions fight in a chaotic battle for dominance, but I've got a firm grip around the twisting coils.
I have power now, and I intend to use it.
Then I shimmy my jeans and panties down after toeing off my boots. The air is cool against my bare body. I drag over a surprisingly normal, albeit gnarled looking chair until it drops with a heavy clunk in front of Shadow. I settle back in the seat as stately as if it were my throne, my fingers curled around the ends of the arm rests.
"Now, thank me," I repeat.
I don't know how long before someone returns, potentially walking in this scene I've created, but I don't really give a fuck right now.
Shadow hesitates. "How would you like me to thank you?"
"My queen," I correct.
He pauses. "My queen." Something dark and dangerous underlines his words.
Something solid forms in my chest when he calls me that. Something sure, and real. I'm not entirely able to grasp the position I've been thrown in, but I'm learning to adapt faster these days.
"Pleasure me, from where you kneel," I command.
A group of shadowy tendrils snake forward, slithering over my skin with a deliberate slowness. They twine over my bare collarbones, crawl up my ankles. A sigh escapes me as I revel in the familiar velvety touch of darkness. A couple of them twirl around my nipples, plucking and playing until they are taut peaks sending messages of need to my center.
One of them slinks up my calf before it follows the trek of my inner thigh, causing me to shudder in anticipation. When it brushes up my slit, I drop my head back and melt a little.
The tentacle spreads my eager moisture experimentally brushing and probing shallowly.
The velvet chair beneath me feels like it’s swallowing me whole, as though the upholstery is damp and pulsing with its own rhythm. The fabric clings too tightly, pressing against my skin, hinting that beneath the luxurious surface there’s something slick and raw.
"More," I whisper, feeling the pressure tighten around my throat, the tendril between my thighs thickening, pressing in deeper, stretching me.
My mouth falls open, a broken gasp slipping free as he fills me, and my eyes fly open to see him watching, his stare devouring me. A faint, electric hum vibrates through the floor, as though the castle itself is reveling in this twisted display.
My head drops back, taking in the ceiling. The tar-like substance shifts, as if breathing. The air thickens, rich with a strange blend of musk and metallic sharpness that settles heavily around us, pressing against my skin like a second layer.
I can’t tell if all this is real, or if nothing is.
Making Over A Monster
The walls of the bedroom seem to move in the periphery of my vision, shadows slipping up and down, oozing like blood through a wound, dark and syrupy. The sense of being watched is so intense it prickles across my shoulders, my bare skin hyper-aware of each unsettling detail.
It’s terrifying. Alien. And the danger of it makes me wetter.
This place. These feelings. They add a layer of sensitivity and depth as Shadow continues to pleasure me where I sit on my makeshift throne. My clit is laved and flicked and rubbed while I’m filled to near breaking point. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes and my finger dig into the arms of the chair.
A low, insistent thrum of rumbling emanates from Shadow. His own need is building. "I want to kiss you."
