This fic was heavily inspired by conversations with Stamina Overlord and her amazing artwork that reflects many of our shared kinks. This is for her.
2nd person point of view. Can be read as a reader-insert or as Christine's POV.
You want to be controlled. You want a man who is so focused on his own gratification that he loses all control over himself, and all you become is a vessel for his pleasure.
That's why you go to him: you know he will consume you, but you trust him not to take advantage and use you more than you want him to. No other man can give you this; your fantasies are seen as deviant in polite society, but with him they can become a reality, lived out in safety.
It's been several months since you last saw him, since you left him by the Rue Scribe entrance and never looked back. Now you're back to give yourself over to him, to let him command you and give you what you so desperately crave.
He's desperate too, you remind yourself as you travel through the dark tunnels in the catacombs; your heart pounds violently against your ribcage and you imagine him hearing its echo through the walls, a steady beating of fear and desire that fits his music so perfectly.
A large gloved hand suddenly snakes around you from behind and grips your delicate throat. Though you feel certain who it is by the cold, long fingers holding you, you gasp; the sound is immediately muted as he tightens his grip. You don't know if it's panic or lust that makes you lean back against his long, hard frame, but it is surrender; you'll take whatever he's willing to give you.
His breath teases your ear when he leans down to ask you "Why are you here?" and you hear the barely restrained and painful longing just beneath the surface of his captivating voice. You feel your heated body melting into his, seeking the chill of his skin beneath the many layers of clothes.
Your mouth is parched and the words come out uncertain in a hoarse voice when you finally answer him: "I want you to use me." You know you won't convince him sounding so insecure, so you attempt to clear your throat; his hold turns loose, allowing you to finally tell him what you undeniably want: "Claim me, body and soul, and quench your thirst in me." His breath hitches against your ear and he pushes his body into yours, causing you to let out a small whimper.
He's apprehensive of your offer, unsure how to proceed; of all the reasons for your possible return, this is not one he's anticipated. "What will you let me do to you?" You don't miss the underlying threat in his words, nor the hunger, and hope this means he won't go easy on you.
"Anything," you practically moan. That is all it takes; he releases your throat, making you gasp for breath, though it was only slightly restricted a moment ago, but he doesn't give you time to rest; a hand wraps around your right bicep and he begins to push you forward, towards his house.
It takes just a few minutes with the pace he sets, almost forcing you to run as he doesn't take your much shorter legs into account. You stumble several times, failing to keep up, despite your best attempt. But his urgency matches your own and you press on, blindly letting him lead you forward.
It comes as a surprise when you find yourself in his house with no knowledge of how you entered. You turn to look for the entrance, but instead you come face to face with the imposing man behind you.
Your memory of him hadn't brought him justice and as he stands before you, impossibly tall and dressed impeccably in black with his yellow eyes staring intensely into your very soul, you begin to feel doubt creep in. This was a bad idea, you realize; you've given yourself to a madman and God knows what he plans to do with you.
You turn away from him, moving to escape, but he has anticipated it; you've barely moved before his hands catch you. One hand grips your wrists, holding them firmly against the small of your back, while the other wraps around your throat once more. This time it's him that presses against you as he growls into your ear, "giving up so soon?" It sends a shiver down your back.
He lets go of your throat, but not to hear an answer from you. Instead, he moves his hand slowly down the right side of your body, just barely touching enough to let you feel it, but your body reacts to even his smallest touch. Then he lifts your restrained wrists over your head, forcing them into an odd angle that makes you cry out in pain. He ignores it, his focus now fully on the hand that has found its way to your front and is plucking at the buttons of your bodice. A growing hardness grinds into your lower back as he exposes more of your skin: your clavicle, the slope towards the swell of your breasts; his breath is harsh in your ears.
You allow him to tear at your clothing, his usually beautiful voice reduced to primal grunting - like a wild animal - as the hidden parts of your body comes into view. His hand leaves none of it untouched, grabbing at your curves with a nearly bruising touch and, finally letting your aching wrists go, lets his other hand join in.
There's no fight in you as his leather-covered hands grope you. Terror fills you to the point that you're frozen with it - shocked to be so exposed to a man for the first - frightened of what he may do to you, but at the same time you relish the loss of control, of being utterly at his mercy; you're his to destroy, to mold or perhaps to worship - whatever he wants.
The leather of his gloves is warm now from your heated flesh, so when an icy hand suddenly palms your naked breast, you cry out; he likes the sound and it only takes a blink of an eye before you hear him pull the other glove off with his teeth and another bare hand cups the heat between your thighs. This time your cry becomes a moan and he echoes the sound into your ear before sucking your earlobe into his mouth, pulling it with his teeth.
His hands travel over your naked curves, tracing each swell and dip of your body. The icy touch makes your skin grow goosebumps and your nipples peak. He hums with appreciation and he plucks at them; you whine as the stinging turns into a pool of desire in your abdomen. It becomes a heavy pressure at your core and you tremble violently when a long, spindly finger slides between your lower lips, briefly touching the source of all your ache. Your hips automatically push against his finger, causing him to release you instantly, stepping back so suddenly you almost fall backwards.
The absence of his body against yours seems stiflingly and you turn around; there's only darkness where he should be, and emptiness surrounds you. You begin to shake as an eerie feeling settles over you. Did he leave you, a revenge for when you left him? Or was it a dream, a hallucination? You want to call out for him, but the words are stuck in your throat.
You circle the room, for the first time realizing that you're in the sitting room. It hasn't changed since you were here the last time; time stands still underground. You wonder if you should look for him in one of the other rooms when you see him: two yellow eyes in the corner near the fireplace. They should calm you - his continued presence should be comforting - but fear grows in you. His eyes are wild - savage even - greedy and full of danger.
With an unbearable slowness, like a predator stalking its prey, he nears you. By reflex you back away, not taking your eyes off him, but you stumble against a foot stool and fall to your bottom. He lowers himself to the floor, settling his long body to sit between your spread legs; he tilts forward and, as you try to keep some distance, you lean back until you're lying completely on the floor. The position seems to satisfy him.
"I've always wondered how your skin would feel against mine," he murmurs darkly. It's only then you notice that he's naked now like you. He must've undressed when you couldn't see him. His skin is a moldy greyish color, thin and close to transparent which makes his veins and tendons stand out. In this particular light the skin glistens with a shade of sickly pale yellow; it matches his eyes, you muse. His scars are many and of different shapes and sizes, reminding you of the brutal life he's lived, of the abuse he has taken and perhaps the hurt he has caused others - like he can cause you if he wishes.
Your gaze unavoidably falls upon the threatening club of his cock nearly touching your stomach; it twitches briefly against the surface of your skin and a hiss leaves him at the contact, his cockhead leaking more creamy liquid threatening to drip on you.
A laugh escapes him when he notices your fearful eyes observing the massive length between your bodies. "I wonder if your lovely throat could take me… All of me," his heavenly voice is deeper, like a devil's, tempting and alarming you with the sinful words. His thumb and index finger grasp your bottom lip and pull at it, rolling its flesh between his fingers to test its plumpness. "I would love to see my cock disappear into that pretty little mouth of yours."
He leans closer to your face as though he is going to kiss you, his fingers releasing your lips, and you realize that you've been holding your breath; a drop of cooling precum falls onto your stomach and, with a gasp, you breathe in. It surprises him as much as he can be - the man who knows your every move - and he draws back.
In a split second he's standing above you and he grips your hair, snaking his long, bony fingers in between the strands, and he pulls until you scream in agony, quickly scrambling to your knees to relieve the pain. Now he's got you where he wants you: his erection is right in front of your eyes as he towers above you with his unnatural height.
He bends his knees a little and, fingers still in your hair, tug you closer until the cockhead touches your lips. Gripping the base of his shaft, he smears the thick precum over your mouth as if it was lipstick. "Taste it," he commands, his breath heavy with lust. Reluctantly, you let your tongue slip out and graze your sticky bottom lip; it's salty and too bitter for your picky taste buds. He groans loudly, thrusting his hips a little, so his cock bumps against your slack mouth.
"Open your mouth," he beckons, though you know that you don't have much of a choice. It's a test, to see if you truly mean that you want this - want him to dominate you and take his pleasure from you.
Your jaw reacts in spite of the hesitance in your mind and he leads the tip ardently in between your lips. "Ah!" His breath hitches as his taut, yet soft head is wrapped in the wet cocoon of your mouth. However, the gap you've made is nowhere near enough for the rest of him to enter.
"Come on, sweet girl," he coons above you and you slowly open wider to let more of him in, but he's not satisfied. Holding your head steady, he plunges into your mouth until he hits the uvula and you convulse as your throat starts to gag around his length. He pulls out to let you catch your breath, meanwhile tut-tutting mockingly. Tears fill your eyes as you struggle to control the reflexes of your body, but Erik only gives you so little time.
Once more, he tugs at your hair, forcing you to look up at his face. "Remember to open your throat, as we've practiced in your lessons, sweet-heart." He barely lets you absorb his words before he drives his entire length into your mouth; now facing upwards, this new angle allows him to slide down your throat. You hurry to remember to relax it as per his instructions, narrowly avoiding another bout of gagging. He holds still for a moment, forcing you to feel the protruding veins throbbing on his cock and, as he moans grotesquely above you, an uncomfortable sensation when another release of precum glides down your esophagus.
You feel your own arousal drip from your throbbing sex, sliding into the cleft between your buttocks; you moan around his cock. The vibrations makes him cry out a strangled "ah, fuck!" and he pushes his hips into your face, so the hairs at the thick base of his length tickle your face.
He looks down at you - that terrible face - and you recognize the expression on it: he's fighting to restrain himself now, lust consuming him - lust for you. Keeping his yellow eyes on yours, he slowly drags his cock out of your mouth. You let your tongue circle the tip and it makes him grip your hair harder. "Are you wet for me?" He asks as he traces your lips again with his cockhead, wet with your spit. He already knows the answer - the desire must be plain on your face - but you nod anyway to boost his ego. It works. The fire in his eyes flares as he glares at you satisfied.
But you don't want him thinking about your pleasure, only his own. You need him to possess you - use you - for his own gain, so you take his cockhead between your lips and suck. Hard.
His control snaps in an instant; he throws his head back, moaning vulgarly, and begins thrusting his shaft into your throat at a punishing pace, fervidly accepting your invitation to fuck your mouth. You gag repeatedly and, as your hands lift to the sinew of his thighs - your nails digging into the papery skin - you try to regain control of the position, but it's pointless: he reigns over you and only he can change the angle of his entry.
He does, to your relief, pulling your hair to lift your head higher, allowing his whole length into the pipe of your throat in smooth slides. "Take it! Fuck me with your mouth," he yells with a hasty rasp in his voice, "Ah, I'm gonna take every hole of yours and fill it with my cock, fuck… until you can't feel anything but me." His words inflame your blood, despite the painful position you're in and the stab of his shaft in your throat; the desire at your center beats with every thrust he delivers and you moan around his length, your tongue tensing against the underside of his cock to please him more.
He groans loudly - whimpers - then snarls as he pounds his cock into your welcoming mouth, though your jaw is now cramping from the strain to fit all of him, and you're a wanton woman because you savour every moment of it. You long to sneak a hand to your cunt to rub at the ache, the wetness that drips from you, but you're too unsteady on your knees with the force he drives into you. And it's his hands you want on you, not your own.
Your wish is partly granted when a calloused, bony hand grabs your right breast, kneading it roughly. You lean into his hand, but the moment is short lived. His hips lose their rhythm and with a roaring "oh fuck!" he fists his hand around your breast and rams his cock violently into your throat for the last time, stilling as his length spasms and several bursts of his seed fill your esophagus to the point where you're choking on it. He doesn't pull back to allow you to swallow, but you manage to do so anyway, feeling the sticky liquid slither slowly down. At least you were spared most of the taste.
His grip on your hair and the other hand on your now bruised breast don't relent for what feels like several minutes; he twitches on your tongue as his cock becomes more flaccid, though not entirely soft. The sparse greying hair at the base of him scratches your sore lips, but you don't pull away.
You feel strangely sated, despite the lack of release, and it feels sudden when he lets go of your breast and slides out between your lips. Your saliva and traces of his cum cling to his somewhat limp shaft; the strings of mixed fluids from you both connecting your lips with his manhood are very tantalizing.
With an uncanny elegance like a cat, he gracefully staggers backwards, still with a firm hold on your hair, so you have to crawl on all fours to follow him quickly, until he reaches his large armchair and falls into it. You feel the tension slip from his body and yours responds by becoming relaxed as well. You settle yourself on your knees on the fine Persian rug by the chair, like a dog with its master, and rest your head against his knee. His fingers in your hair start to caress you as one would stroke a pet.
His gentle touch is all you feel right now, along with the persistent throbbing, echoing in your core over and over. You don't understand how your body can react with such enthusiasm to his use of you - his actions being genuine abuse if you weren't so willing - but you follow the instinct to succumb to his power. Allowing yourself to be consumed by his allure - to become another thing he masters - is freeing and your head feels less heavy than usual. There's a void of the thoughts that normally seem to occupy your mind to the point where you cannot sleep. Now there's only him. He will take care of you.
You don't know how much time passes as you sit while he caresses your hair. Time has no meaning, only his comforting touch. Slowly, his fingers begin to trace down the side of your neck; a blunt nail grazes over your pulsepoint in a delicious way and a soft moan escapes you. With one fluid movement he has you pinned beneath him on the itchy rug, his hands holding down your already bruised wrists on each side of your head.
His mouth swoops down and attacks your lips without granting you the opportunity to respond. With force his tongue plunges into your mouth, devouring you, drinking you in as though he had thirsted for it his entire life - maybe he has.
When you attempt to tangle your tongue with his, he bites it; it's hard enough that you taste blood. His mouth leaves yours, instead traveling down your jaw, kissing - licking - your fevered skin, every touch shooting straight to your cunt. However, it doesn't take you long to realize that his mouth's worship of your body isn't for your pleasure; he ignores your eager approval when he sucks on your pulsepoint, instead moving down over your clavicle.
His kisses turn to bites, hard enough to make you hiss in pain and you think he will leave marks on your skin; you hope so. When he reaches your breasts, you look down and see that you are indeed covered in bite marks, his saliva glistening in the dim light on your skin. He looks up at you, giving you the opportunity to stop him, but you're not capable of it; you want his mouth on you.
Not letting his eyes leave yours, he shows his devotion to your body as he revels in your breasts. Both his hands move up to cup each mound, kneading and massaging them in a wonderful way before he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks on it until it burns. A hand pinches the other nipple; his gentle touch turns more aggressive. When he moves his mouth to the other breast, he bites down on the tender bud and you cry out in pain, then coo when he lets go and the pain turns to sweet pleasure.
He hums appreciatively, his hands continuing the rough treatment of your heaving bosom, as he begins to move further down your body, sucking - licking - biting, until you feel quite mad with want from his torment.
When he reaches the place between your thighs, his patience seems to end; his hands grip each inner thigh, forcing them apart, and he dives directly in between your inner lips. It's a sensory assault on your raw core. His tongue invades your sopping wet opening, drinking it up as a starving man, while ignoring the throbbing pearl further up on your sex. Your hips lift of their own violation, desperate to receive whatever he has to give, but his hands react to your movements, forcing your hips to still.
He lifts his head and greets you with a smirk on that ugly face before licking a long line from your core, up your inner lips, until he reaches your clit; he circles it once - twice, and you moan - then presses the tip of his tongue directly onto it. You scream; it's too much too soon and you squirm against him, trying to escape the overstimulating touch.
You're just about to yell at him to stop, knowing well that it will end all of this and that you will never see him again, but finally he removes the offending tongue from your hurting flesh. He blows on it lightly, easing the stinging immediately; you nearly weep with relief.
His tongue returns to your swollen bud, but this time he's more gentle and you feel your body responding eagerly to his delicious ministrations. A hand lets go of your right thigh and sneaks to your opening, first filling you with one long finger, then another. You clench around them, making his breath hitch in response, as you enjoy the way he massages your inner walls, studying what secrets your core holds, while adoring your clit with his tongue with a subtle increasing pressure.
You moan desperately, completely enthralled by the pleasure overtaking your body as you can feel the summit within your reach, and the whole world focus in on the apex between your legs where he's controlling you - your body and mind - groaning against your yearning flesh when you bathe his fingers in your desire.
He reaches a place inside, just on the other side of the wall where your clit is; you cry out as the calloused pads of his talented fingers slide over it, then again and again, with his teeth now lightly biting your clit until you spasm violently around his fingers, crushing his head between your trembling thighs, as you ride the waves of fulfillment.
It's with care that he slows his pace before removing his tongue and soaked fingers from you. You're surprised by the sudden tenderness he's showing for you and a little frustrated because you wanted him to lose control, to unravel, and instead he has acted composed through the entire thing, bringing you pleasure instead of taking it for himself.
However, your frustration is brief; he rises to his knees above you where you're lying on the stiff hairs of the Persian rug, smirking with wolfish gleaming eyes, and grips your hips hard before shoving you onto your stomach. You get up on all fours and turn to look back at him where he's taking his large shaft in his hand, a knee pushing your legs apart, and then he guides his cockhead to your opening.
You prepare to be filled, though you're still wheeling from the intense climax, but instead of entering you, he slides his cock up through your lower lips. The feeling of his hardness between your soft, sensitive folds are exquisite; you shudder underneath him as he lowers his chest to your body, molding his body to fit yours. He has enveloped you, his whole being surrounding you and absorbing everything you are until you're nothing but a vessel for him to use.
Allowing yourself to be swallowed by him as his breath rasps in your ear and his cock slides over your clit, you barely register the moment he pulls away before he rams his entire length into you, forcing you to take much more than just two of his spindly fingers. The cry you emit is lost by his animalistic groan. He doesn't stop; as soon as he has filled you to the hilt, he pulls out and slams into you again, repeating to ravage you uncontrollably.
His movements are fierce and you have to twist your fingers into the short strands of the rug to keep yourself stabilized. There's no rhythm to his thrusts and your mind can't get used to the onslaught, but your body - still so sensitive after your crisis - reacts with glee. He places a hand between your shoulder blades and pushes your upper body down towards the rug, then lifts your hips further up. The small changes have a significant effect: he drives even deeper into you and moans fervently as he reaches the very end of your core, going still for a moment; you're grateful for the small opportunity to get used to the sensation of having him so deep inside you.
When he starts to move again, you realize that each thrust makes his cock drag over that spot inside you he found before. You convulse the first time and the second, nearly tumbling onto the rug with your head first while he continues his punishing pace.
Something uneven, but soft slaps your clit, making you gasp in surprise and satisfaction. You look down between your legs where you see his balls slap against the delicate pearl nearly hidden by your outer lips every time he plunges into you; it's maddening in the best of ways. Soon, he has driven you into a lustful frenzy.
"Mine, mine... you... so beautiful, ah! Tight," he mumbles incoherently in his enchanting, deep voice behind you and though you only catch those few words, you revel in his loss of control, the crack in his usually stoic facade.
This is how you knew it would always be with him; it's what you've yearned for so long in your mind, in your body - this and so much more. You feel certain that you can trust him with every one of your depraved fantasies that you haven't dared to share with anyone for fear of being judged. But he will be open-minded and do it all to you; he's just like you.
Your crisis hits you hard and it feels like you're falling from a great cliff; you close your eyes and let it wash over you, barely feeling the continued shove of his thrusts, as you pummel towards the earth - screaming his name in elation - and it's the sweetest release you've ever known.
You must've blacked out. When you return to consciousness, he has moved you onto your back with your ankles draped over his shoulders - a hand gripping your breast and another tightening around your throat - and he's pounding into you with a ferocity unlike any you've ever seen; you should feel frightened by the considerable strength of him that makes you heave for breath, but instead you savour the expression on his terrible face as he loses all sense of self in you.
He thrusts one last time and looks into your eyes as he reaches his peak; his gaze becomes distant when he begins to fall, his hips attempting to force his cock impossibly further into you as he comes, willing his seed to bear fruit in your body. His grip on your throat tightens briefly, then releases, before he collapses onto your body.
You cry out because your ankles are still over his shoulders and you do your best to maneuver them into a better position, despite having his thin but heavy body as an enormous obstacle on your tiny frame. After you've managed to escape the painful position, you slide your hands up his scarred back while listening to his heart slowing down to a more regular beat.
It takes several minutes before he lifts his head, his eyes guarded as he takes in your expression. You feel sated and you expect he can see that, yet he asks anyway: "Was I too rough on you?" Instead of responding, you let your hands slide into his sparse hair and drag his thin lips down to yours. It should've been the first thing you did when you came to him, but it seems fitting to do this way. Nothing about your relationship will ever be ordinary.
His breath hitches as your mouths merge, his lips moving with more care than he has shown towards your body. It feels right and you moan when his teeth nips at your bottom lip before his tongue claims you. The kiss is deep - possessive - and you submit yourself unconditionally to it.
"A kiss to seal our union," he whispers against your lips as he draws back, leaving you breathless, "you're now mine." You manage to nod, assuring him with your confirmation; you've always been his.
It is startling when he releases you, rising in a fluid and elegant movement so swift that you barely see it before he's lifting your limp body and carries you down the hallway, ignoring the cold seed that slides down your. He doesn't enter the guestroom that once belonged to you. He enters his own, so dark and imposing with its morbid decorations, most of all the coffin he sleeps in.
You begin to panic as he gently places you in that very box; the awareness that it's made for the dead grips you, despite the soft silk lining it and the feather-stuffed pillow under your head. Your heart starts to pound, but you lie passively as he begins to tie your ankles to the handles on the coffin's sides; apparently he doesn't believe yet that you will stay.
"You're my wife now and a good wife sleeps with her husband," he says lovingly as he ties the last knot before climbing into the dreadful box as well. His skeleton body is hard against yours, his bony limbs sharp on your bare skin when he presses his body into yours, but you breathe a sigh of contentment as he wraps his arms around you.
The dark confinement is comforting and intimate, so unlike the big bed in the guestroom where there is no intimacy to be found. Here, he can engulf you so completely that you nearly merge into one. You close your eyes and breathe in the familiar stale scent of his dry, wrinkly skin.
"I'll fight to deserve you," he whispers into your ear as you begin to doze off, "for the rest of our lives."