Chapter 22
That feral need shatters the last ounce of hesitation I have, and I twist to sit back up, catching him by surprise.
The look of fury at the audacity of his prey to interrupt him sends a flush of both anticipation and trepidation rushing to the surface, reddening my cheeks, making my breath catch in my throat, even as I turn and prop myself on all fours, presenting myself to him.
He inhales sharply, his own breath hitching in his chest and then he is back at my breast, roughly kneading with his hand, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending lightning bolts of agonizing pleasure coursing through my body, while at the same time, his tongue caresses and teases the slit between my legs.
It feels incredible. I bite down hard on my bottom lip, holding my scream as his tongue probes me deeper, ensuring that his scent marks me from the inside out.
Finally, once he is content that my flesh is impregnated with his essence, the predatory, blood-red tongue latches onto the hard nub of my swollen clit, flicking it again and again until the building pressure bursts in a violent torrent, pulsing from between my thighs.
With his arms wrapped tightly about my legs, Wake's tongue plunging deep into my molten core, thrusts relentlessly, rhythmically, until I climax.
Orgasms detonate through me with uncompromising intensity, stealing the very air from my lungs. I collapse on top of the computer monitor, sobbing as my body tremors, ripples of ecstasy pouring out of my convulsing pussy to flood Wake's tongue.
Still the huge, razor-sharp teeth and massive arms hold my thighs wide apart while the searing appendage probes and burrows, thrusting in and out, gorging itself on my warm, wet quim, extracting another shattering orgasm.
Exhausted and shuddering, I glance behind me.
Even though his own need is tangible, his massive, ribbed cock protruding proudly, his eyes glittering like a cobra's in the dim lighting, he's wholly concentrated on devouring the taste of my essence, the aroma of my juices mingled with his own, our scents becoming one.
Without so much as a second for a respite, his rough, sand-paper tongue scratches my clitoris in a blinding streak, wrenching a guttural whimper from my lungs.
"Please, Wake! God, oh God."
I've been reduced to a begging, pleading mass of sensation and need.
But, rather than ease back, as he merely quickens the tempo, the endorphins released by microscopic serrations on his tongue triggering the production of more and more lubricant.
It doesn't matter that it feels so good I want to cry, because the instant the last quake shudders through me, he begins again, circling my opening with his wicked appendage, applying pressure with the hardened edges, wounding and healing me all at once, heightening my excitement.
Through the haze of arousal, my analytical mind can't help but examine what it is he's doing to me in order to extrapolate what's about to happen next. He's preparing me. I'm wetter than I've ever been in my life, quite literally, my thighs completely slicked over, my natural lubricant dripping onto the observation deck below.
Wake's cock is larger than any humans' I've seen, much larger than anything I've ever had inside my body before, and nature is ensuring that I'm ready to receive Wake when he finally takes me. And he will be taking me, I have no doubts about that. This isn't like back on the ship, no one is coming to rescue me. I'm his to do with as he pleases and we both know it.
And I want to be at his mercy. I am thrilled to be at his mercy, no matter how hard I try to remind myself that it should terrify me.
I have the freedom, the choice, to pull away. The control to push him away. To scream for him to leave me alone, but my traitorous body wants more, revealing my silent compliance, my supplication as he eases my knees apart, pushing me forward until my cheek is pressed against the transparent floor.
He aligns himself behind me, his black and red, tapered cock rubbing eagerly across my wet opening. He teases, and circles, dipping the rounded head in and out in a hypnotic pattern - who knew my siren knew how to tease.
"Wake, please," I moan, all sense of propriety gone.
He tenses behind me. For a fraction of a heartbeat I think he may pull away.
Then he uses leverage from his coiled tail to thrust himself forward, his enormous cock parting me and entering in one, hard, deliberate thrust.
The moment he connects with my body, he halts, allowing me to adjust to the size, the shape, and texture of him inside me. My inner walls quiver, spasms and convulsions pulsate up and through the center of me.
When they have finally settled and the first rush of euphoria passes, Wake pulls back, and thrusts into my slick, yielding sex again, harder than before, growling through his teeth.
He is not gentle. The rhythm and intensity of his thrusting are unrestrained and punishing. Each movement draws a tortured moan from my chest and then sends me lunging forward. In order to stay in a position so readily available, Wake reaches under, grasping me around the ribs, as he rocks himself in and out.
To an onlooker, I must appear to be fighting him. Clawing for purchase against the glass beneath my knees. Fighting for air through my ragged sobs and screaming pleas. But in truth I am meeting his demands, lifting my hips to meet him with equal ferocity.
He uses one clawed hand to grab a handful of my hair, forcing me to meet the punishing rhythm of his hips as I plead and beg. "More. Deeper. Oh God..."
All the while the winding ridges lining his dick grab hold of the delicate, receptive tissue inside of me, relentlessly massaging my pussy walls. And just like that, I come again, gripping him even tighter, pulling him deeper, and crying out into the open air.
As I do, Wake begins to sing, and I feel myself begin to slip away.
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