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Summary
“tell me,” alastor coaxed, like milk and honey oozing from his tongue. It spilled from his lips like seduction, like temptation. “how does it feel, my seed taking its root inside your womb?”
he opened his mouth to speak, to respond, to describe all the ways in which his body had been changed, all the ways that it had transformed to bend to the demon’s will. he could have waxed poetic about how it made him feel, could have rivaled fucking shakespeare if not for the fingers playing inside of his cunt. but as lucifer’s tongue fell limp, he was left to whine and squirm against alastor’s working palm.
“does it feel as godlike as you imagined?”
Series
- Part 5 of Cataclysmic Catechism