Despite his focus, Corrigan’s anger flares slightly at how obvious it is that this young mortal has never touched themselves, never explored their own uniquely beautiful anatomy. The shudder of pleasure that arcs through their body is laced with shame, with fear, leaving a sorrowful aftertaste. Corrigan is not a god who deals often with the valley folk, but he has a sudden urge to go enact some fire and brimstone upon whoever taught this lovely young creature such guilt about their own pleasure.
But later, perhaps. For now, the god has a goal -- gently coaxing his sacrifice into heights of bliss they'd never experienced before, then claiming them for his own. Corrigan knows his realm, his divine presence, his undivided attentions, are exactly what this beautiful, fearful creature needs.
"Have you never touched yourself like this?" Corrigan asks in a soft, purring voice, one of his tendrils stroking up the young human's stirring cock, in time with the deity's fingers, teasing between the untouched folds of their cunt. "Never, little one? Is my touch the first you've ever felt? Fortunate mortal. You will never be satisfied by another's touch, ever again."
The man’s—deity’s? being’s?—words almost ring true. Kurt has so scarcely ever touched themself, instilled with such guilt and fear and shame about their body from the moment they were born, that they may as well never have explored themself at all. Any and every touch has only ever made them burn, made their stomach clench and their heart drop, knowing their father would beat them within an inch of their life should he find out.
But the man—god? pleasure incarnate?—touches them between their legs like there’s nothing to fear, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and the pleasure that rocks their trembling frame is anything but shameful. Tendrils stroke and caress their cock with slow, gentle squeezes, his fingers play between their folds, growing more and more slick, his touch hot and tingling with a magic Kurt cannot comprehend.
Their sobbing moans grow louder against the cloth in their mouth, drowning out the chants and rumbling from the gathered faithful, watching with rapt attention as their god toys with his bounty. Kurt can’t look, can’t bear knowing they’re all watching, their eyes squeezed shut as they shake their head back and forth. Whether it’s an answer to his question or a plea for mercy is impossible to tell—though their twitching hips and fluttering cunt seems to speak for them.
Corrigan knows they're all watching -- that they will tell stories later of his prowess, of how his shadowy tendrils slid beneath the silk and tore it away, leaving the captive youth bare, how his skillfully touch was multiplied a thousand fold, each dark wisp of shadow like a teasing fingertip, along the mortal's shivering body, teasing at the jut of their hip bone, the curve of their waist, the pink peak of their nipples. His hands stayed where they were, one stroking and caressing at the virgin folds until they grew slick and syrupy and parted beneath his fingers, the wetness gathered and spread until he felt it pooling in his palm.
Then Corrigan reaches up, gently tugs the gag away, out from between the moaning mortal's full lips, thumbing their mouth open, listening to their shuddery gasps. "Tell me your name," he commands, slowly pressing his first two fingers inside the helpless sacrifice for the first time, watching their face as he sinks in to the knuckles. "And I shall tell you what name to cry out as I take you."
The tendrils are everywhere, everywhere, floating and stroking and cascading over their body as soon as it's bared, not an inch of their naked skin left untouched. Kurt shivers and cries, still fighting their bonds, still arching on the altar—although if they're arching away from or into the snaking tendrils is becoming harder and harder to tell. It's a sensation near impossible to describe, hot and molten and slick, spreading through them in seductive waves.
And the fingers, the fingers, playing with their slippery folds, spreading them apart, pressing inside them to find their body aflame with desire, slick and squeezing around every thick knuckle. Kurt barely dares to open their eyes, looking up at the being playing with them, unsure if it's dread or wanting that floods their senses in that moment. They've never felt anything like this.
"K-K-Kurt," they shakily manage, their own name melting into a loud moan that makes the worshipers murmur with approval. Their hips twitch, bucking hard against the deity's hand, feeling his fingers filling them up while the tendrils continue stroking their cock. This pleasure is impossible. Kurt can't possibly survive this. "P-Please— I beg you, Lord, pleeease—!"
"Oh, sweet child, delicious little mortal..." Corrigan chuckles fondly, his tendrils lovingly caressing his offering's shivering young body. Two have focused their tips onto the pert, pink buds of the youth's nipples, stroking and teasing to make their whole body shudder with helpless pleasure.
Another coiled around the slender column of their neck, squeezing just enough that their eyes rolled back, breath coming shaky and raspy. He knew, of course, all the best ways to make an innocent mortal wild with bliss, to manipulate their wonderfully responsive bodies into begging for more. They were always so scandalized, so shocked at their own depravity. Had they really moaned at pain or restraint, had they truly thrilled at being so manhandled? Corrigan was certain Kurt would be like that, so mortified at how a gripping touch on their throat dizzied then with pleasure.
That is, if he allowed them a spare moment to catch their breath and think straight.
"Corrigan, my lovely little pet. When you plead for my touch, beg me to fill you up, call me by my name." A wave of his hand, and the god -- the demon -- stood proud and unclothed, his clothes disappearing like smoke, revealing his thick, inhuman cock. It was textured oddly, ripples and contours along its gleaming length, the spadelike head dripping thick, slick silvery fluid. "But when I am inside you, when I fuck you, Kurt, call me Master."
Predictably, Kurt is just as scandalized as every other mortal at their own depravity. As the tendril around their throat tightened and squeezed, they had moaned despite the pain, despite the threat of mortal danger as their breath was stolen, not reaching their desperately heaving lungs. Had they really moaned? Did they like this? They couldn't possibly. Even for a virgin, they know lovemaking isn't supposed to be like this.
But the pleasure coursing through them is impossible to deny. As he continues fingering them, stroking their cock, playing with their sensitive nipples, Kurt shudders helplessly with ecstasy, pale freckled skin warming and reddening with shame and pleasure both, no longer able to stop their hips from meeting his hand.
In fact, as the being—the creature, the demon, Corrigan, his name is Corrigan—disrobes before them, revealing his enormous cock for all to see, their cunt flutters hard with inexplicable hunger around his fingers. Kurt yearns to feel it entering them, stirring up their insides, heightening their pleasure before the worshipers' watchful eyes. He utters his command, his order, and Kurt knows without doubt that they will follow his word to the letter. "Y-Yes, yes, Lord— C-Corrigan, Corrigan, please, Corrigan! I b-beg you, Corrigan, please, fill me up, I— I need you inside, inside, Corrigan, please—!"
It was always amusing to the god how swiftly mortals -- especially virginal ones -- succumbed to his charms. No matter how staunch their beliefs, all it took where some clever, practiced movements of his hands or mouth and they were begging for him. Just like Kurt was, shameless and heedless of the audience watching each erotic moment with eager worship.
"Very good," Corrigan purrs, several of his tendrils of shadow curling around the cords that had bound Kurt to the altar, destroying them in a flash of spiced scented smoke. The dark appendages replace the ropes immediately, of course, curling around the young mortal's wrists and binding them together. More tentacles slide up Kurt's legs, bending them at the knee and spreading them wide. Corrigan’s warm, bare body emanates heat as he settles between the spread, freckled thighs.
"Do you want my cock, little mortal?" He coos the words, sliding his fingers free of Kurt's soaked, dripping cunt, then guiding his cock to glide through the flushed, sensitive folds. "Do you want me to fuck you? Say it like that, those filthy words with your pretty mouth. Beg me to fuck you."
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But later, perhaps. For now, the god has a goal -- gently coaxing his sacrifice into heights of bliss they'd never experienced before, then claiming them for his own. Corrigan knows his realm, his divine presence, his undivided attentions, are exactly what this beautiful, fearful creature needs.
"Have you never touched yourself like this?" Corrigan asks in a soft, purring voice, one of his tendrils stroking up the young human's stirring cock, in time with the deity's fingers, teasing between the untouched folds of their cunt. "Never, little one? Is my touch the first you've ever felt? Fortunate mortal. You will never be satisfied by another's touch, ever again."
no subject
But the man—god? pleasure incarnate?—touches them between their legs like there’s nothing to fear, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and the pleasure that rocks their trembling frame is anything but shameful. Tendrils stroke and caress their cock with slow, gentle squeezes, his fingers play between their folds, growing more and more slick, his touch hot and tingling with a magic Kurt cannot comprehend.
Their sobbing moans grow louder against the cloth in their mouth, drowning out the chants and rumbling from the gathered faithful, watching with rapt attention as their god toys with his bounty. Kurt can’t look, can’t bear knowing they’re all watching, their eyes squeezed shut as they shake their head back and forth. Whether it’s an answer to his question or a plea for mercy is impossible to tell—though their twitching hips and fluttering cunt seems to speak for them.
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Then Corrigan reaches up, gently tugs the gag away, out from between the moaning mortal's full lips, thumbing their mouth open, listening to their shuddery gasps. "Tell me your name," he commands, slowly pressing his first two fingers inside the helpless sacrifice for the first time, watching their face as he sinks in to the knuckles. "And I shall tell you what name to cry out as I take you."
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And the fingers, the fingers, playing with their slippery folds, spreading them apart, pressing inside them to find their body aflame with desire, slick and squeezing around every thick knuckle. Kurt barely dares to open their eyes, looking up at the being playing with them, unsure if it's dread or wanting that floods their senses in that moment. They've never felt anything like this.
"K-K-Kurt," they shakily manage, their own name melting into a loud moan that makes the worshipers murmur with approval. Their hips twitch, bucking hard against the deity's hand, feeling his fingers filling them up while the tendrils continue stroking their cock. This pleasure is impossible. Kurt can't possibly survive this. "P-Please— I beg you, Lord, pleeease—!"
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Another coiled around the slender column of their neck, squeezing just enough that their eyes rolled back, breath coming shaky and raspy. He knew, of course, all the best ways to make an innocent mortal wild with bliss, to manipulate their wonderfully responsive bodies into begging for more. They were always so scandalized, so shocked at their own depravity. Had they really moaned at pain or restraint, had they truly thrilled at being so manhandled? Corrigan was certain Kurt would be like that, so mortified at how a gripping touch on their throat dizzied then with pleasure.
That is, if he allowed them a spare moment to catch their breath and think straight.
"Corrigan, my lovely little pet. When you plead for my touch, beg me to fill you up, call me by my name." A wave of his hand, and the god -- the demon -- stood proud and unclothed, his clothes disappearing like smoke, revealing his thick, inhuman cock. It was textured oddly, ripples and contours along its gleaming length, the spadelike head dripping thick, slick silvery fluid. "But when I am inside you, when I fuck you, Kurt, call me Master."
no subject
But the pleasure coursing through them is impossible to deny. As he continues fingering them, stroking their cock, playing with their sensitive nipples, Kurt shudders helplessly with ecstasy, pale freckled skin warming and reddening with shame and pleasure both, no longer able to stop their hips from meeting his hand.
In fact, as the being—the creature, the demon, Corrigan, his name is Corrigan—disrobes before them, revealing his enormous cock for all to see, their cunt flutters hard with inexplicable hunger around his fingers. Kurt yearns to feel it entering them, stirring up their insides, heightening their pleasure before the worshipers' watchful eyes. He utters his command, his order, and Kurt knows without doubt that they will follow his word to the letter. "Y-Yes, yes, Lord— C-Corrigan, Corrigan, please, Corrigan! I b-beg you, Corrigan, please, fill me up, I— I need you inside, inside, Corrigan, please—!"
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"Very good," Corrigan purrs, several of his tendrils of shadow curling around the cords that had bound Kurt to the altar, destroying them in a flash of spiced scented smoke. The dark appendages replace the ropes immediately, of course, curling around the young mortal's wrists and binding them together. More tentacles slide up Kurt's legs, bending them at the knee and spreading them wide. Corrigan’s warm, bare body emanates heat as he settles between the spread, freckled thighs.
"Do you want my cock, little mortal?" He coos the words, sliding his fingers free of Kurt's soaked, dripping cunt, then guiding his cock to glide through the flushed, sensitive folds. "Do you want me to fuck you? Say it like that, those filthy words with your pretty mouth. Beg me to fuck you."