His kiss was punishing, consuming, his tongue thick and assertive as it delved deep, commanding her with ruthless, lascivious intent. He drank in the desperate little noises she made—muffled whimpers and trembling moans that vibrated against his tongue—each one fueling the fire steadily building within him.
His knee forced its way between her thighs, driving upward against the damp, pulsing heat hidden by the thin fabric of her pants. The friction was unforgiving. The coarse texture of his own slacks only heightened the delicious pressure between them, and she bucked against him instinctively, chasing the sensation. The heat from her core bled through her clothes, wet and heady, soaking into him, marking him as much as he marked her.
Pinned between him and the wall, Charlie was barely holding on. Her hands clawed at his back, tearing at his coat with frantic urgency. She needed him—needed more. Every grind of his thigh sent shockwaves of raw pleasure through her body, her nerves crackling with sensation. Her breath came in ragged bursts, each one a struggle as she rode the crest of delirium, teetering on the edge of release.
And still—he wasn't done.
His own arousal throbbed between them, painfully hard and unyielding, pressed firmly against her stomach. She could feel the pulse of it, hot and insistent, a silent promise of what was coming. Alastor relished the way her hips moved, her body arching, trembling, needing. His grin curled wickedly across his face as he pulled back just enough to bite her lower lip, dragging the tender flesh between his teeth until she moaned—a broken, breathy sound so steeped in pain and pleasure it might as well have been a prayer.
He released her with a wet pop, his crimson eyes locking onto hers, hungry and alight with feral glee. He was the predator. She was the prey. And he was about to devour her—slowly, completely.
"There we go, darling. Just like that."
His voice was a velvet purr, thick with satisfaction, a promise of delicious ruin. His hands gripped her waist tightly, anchoring her as he ground his thigh higher, firmer, until her body bowed in helpless surrender. Every motion was deliberate. Every touch was calculated. And she—breathless, trembling, lost—was falling apart spectacularly in his hands.
"You've already been taking me so well, haven't you?" Alastor hummed, his grip tightening around her hips, keeping her pinned exactly where he wanted her. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along the exposed skin of her waist, dragging lightly over the sensitive flesh, making her shudder with each pass. "Every night… writhing in your bed, feeling me stretch you open while you had no idea why."
Charlie choked on a gasp, her nails digging into his shoulders as her body quaked under the weight of his words. She tried to move—to rock her hips, to grind down harder against the unrelenting heat beneath her—but Alastor, ever the sadist, only smirked. His fingers tightened, locking her in place, controlling the rhythm with cruel precision.
"You don't get to rush this," he murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth. His thigh flexed again, the solid muscle pressing directly against her swollen clit. The pressure was devastating—an expertly delivered grind that sent lightning crackling through her nerves.
Charlie cried out, the sound sharp and breathless, her body jerking despite herself. The need in her was overwhelming, tearing her apart from the inside out. Her fingers clawed at him, frantic, searching for leverage, for mercy, for more.
Alastor's lips brushed against her jaw, leaving a warm trail as he whispered darkly into her flushed skin.
"Do you want to know what I imagined when I played with that toy?"
Her breath caught violently in her throat. "Alastor—" she whispered, her voice trembling with shock and heat, her pupils blown wide.
He chuckled darkly, lips curling against the shell of her ear as his tongue flicked out to taste her. His voice dropped, thick with lust and something possessive, dangerous.
"I imagined you beneath me," he breathed, the sweetness of his tone laced with something feral. "Spread wide. Trembling. Gasping—just like this."
Charlie groaned, her hands fisting in his shirt, trembling with the strain of restraint. "You're horrible," she hissed, though her voice cracked with need.
"And yet," Alastor purred, nipping at her earlobe, "you're soaking for me."
His hips rolled forward with delicious pressure, grinding his arousal against her abdomen—hot, heavy, and throbbing through the layers between them. The sheer size of him, the heat of it, made her gasp, her body arching in response. The friction was maddening—just a breath away from unbearable.
Alastor's hand slid over hers, fingers curling possessively around her wrist as he guided her down, insistently, deliberately.
"Here," he murmured against her lips, voice roughened with hunger and mischief, "feel what you've done to me."
Her fingers curled around his cock—thick and hot and pulsing with need. The weight of him in her hand was overwhelming. Her breath hitched in her throat, and a sharp, shocked moan escaped her lips.
"F-Fuck," she breathed, her voice cracking under the weight of awe and arousal. "You're so—"
"So what, darling?" a wicked smirk curling his mouth as he watched her face shift from stunned to flushed, amused by her wonder. "Go on. Say it."
Charlie didn't answer immediately. Instead, her hand moved tentatively at first, her fingers trailing along his length—measuring, exploring, learning every ridge and vein. He twitched in her grasp, a sharp inhale breaking from him, and for a moment, the ever-composed demon faltered. His breath came uneven, the rhythm of his hips betraying a need he usually masked behind smooth charm.
She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry as molten heat surged between her legs, pooling deep and thick in her core. The phantom memory of all those nights came flooding back—nights spent writhing in her bed, gasping into her pillow, body trembling as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her from a faceless presence she couldn't name.
But she knew now. It had always been him.
She had felt him before—in some twisted, maddeningly indirect way. Felt the stretch, the weight, the pounding rhythm of him inside her, even if the sensation had been born from some toy gone awry. That onahole of his had ravaged her from the inside, driving her to climax after climax with its merciless thrusts, and even then—even then—it had only been an echo.
But this—this was real.
Her fingers curled tighter around the thick, rigid heat of him, and her breath caught in her throat. He pulsed in her palm, heavy and alive, each twitch of his cock responding to the faintest movement of her touch or the shallow rise and fall of his breath. The skin was soft like velvet, but beneath it was a steel-like hardness that made her mouth water and her knees weak.
Nothing had prepared her for this.
The imagined version hadn't captured the way the veins along his shaft pulsed beneath her fingers, or the way his entire body seemed to tense with restraint as she stroked him. It hadn't conveyed the scorching heat of him, or the way her own slick need mirrored the state of the man before her.
Her lips parted, awe laced in every shaky breath as she looked down between them, barely able to believe what her hand was holding.
"God," she whispered, voice trembling with disbelief and building arousal. "You're… huge." Her thumb traced along the head, and he twitched sharply in her grip, a low hiss slipping past his lips.
"I can't believe this is what I was feeling all this time. The way I couldn't walk straight after—" She cut herself off with a shaky, embarrassed laugh. "I thought I was going crazy."
Alastor leaned in then, his breath hot against her lips, voice dripping with amusement and something darker. "Oh, my sweet," he purred, "you haven't even begun to lose your mind."
He chuckled low in his throat, a rumble of sound that vibrated against her lips. "At first," he rasped, his voice low and strained, "I kept it simple."
His teeth scraped along her throat before biting down, sucking deep bruises into her flushed skin. "Just the feel of you taking me—tight, hot, perfect. The way your body would seize around me every time I pushed deeper."
"But then," he growled, voice thick and steady, "it became more."
His hands slid higher fingers slipping beneath her blouse, untucking it from her pants, tracing the dip of her waist, her ribs, the underside of her breasts—featherlight, tormenting.
"I imagined you begging me to ruin you."
"I started wondering what you'd look like underneath me," Alastor murmured, his thumbs drawing slow, maddening circles into her sides. The subtle pressure made her spine arch off the wall, her body straining for more contact.
Charlie let out a shaky breath, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she fought to keep control—to stay grounded—but it was slipping through her fingers fast.
"What kind of sounds you'd make when I made you come," he continued, voice dripping with unhurried cruelty, "if you'd cry."
Her breath hitched.
His hands finally cupped the swell of her breasts through the fabric of her bra. His fingers kneaded slowly, almost reverently, then with more pressure—more intent. Pulling the fabric down, his thumbs grazed over her nipples, flicking and circling until she gasped aloud.
"Would you sob?" he asked, voice low and syrupy, barely a whisper but heavy with wicked intent. His thumbs pressed down harder, rolling her nipples between his fingers with an edge of cruel finesse that made her knees tremble. Her back bowed, her breath ragged.
She gritted her teeth. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she bit out, her tone strained but challenging.
His lips curved against her ear. "Of course I would."
Her hand was still wrapped around his cock, flushed and hard and pulsing in her grip. She squeezed him in retaliation, slow and deliberate, and felt the ripple of his breath hitch against her throat. His hips rocked forward, not enough to give her satisfaction, but enough to betray how much he enjoyed her spark.
Alastor chuckled—low, dark, pleased.
"Would you whimper?" he went on, unbothered. "Would you fall apart completely, tears running down that lovely face while I held you just like this?"
His hands squeezed harder, rougher, his touch unrelenting as he rolled and tugged at her nipples with precision, drawing a broken, gasping cry from her lips. Her hips jerked instinctively, grinding down against the muscle of his thigh, chasing friction, chasing relief.
"D-dammit Alastor," she hissed, her voice thick, shaking. Her head tipped back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, her body flushed and trembling. "Just—let me—"
"Beg?" Alastor breathed, cutting her off, his voice like velvet laced with barbed wire. His hands molded over her breasts again, possessive, coaxing more desperate sounds from her with every press and twist. His lips brushed her jaw as he murmured, "Say please, darling. You know how I love good manners."
Charlie groaned, low and frustrated, and tightened her grip on him again—stroking him with just enough pressure to make him shudder. "Maybe you should be the one begging," she shot back, voice breathy but daring, her nails grazing the base of his cock. "I'm the one holding you right now."
Alastor growled—deep and indulgent. His teeth scraped her jaw, then nipped at the skin below her ear, leaving it stinging in the wake of his breath.
"I spent hours," he rasped, voice suddenly darker, hungrier, "hours…"
His hands never stopped moving, massaging her breasts with relentless precision—firm squeezes, slow flicks, cruel little tugs that left her breath stuttering. Her entire body felt like a live wire, suspended between sensation and collapse.
"Imagining that toy was you," he whispered, the words hot against her ear, "stretching it around my cock, picturing it was your tight, perfect little cunt wrapped around me. Imagining your thighs shaking, your mouth gasping my name."
The imagery hit her like a shockwave—heat flooding her core, her grip on him tightening instinctively. Her legs trembled, but she still glared up at him, even through the haze of pleasure.
"You're sick," she whispered.
He smiled against her skin, eyes glittering with delight. "And yet you're dripping for me."
His thumbs circled her nipples again, slow and deliberate—agonizingly so. Each rotation dug into the sensitive peaks with maddening precision, wrenching a breathless arch from her spine. She leaned into his touch, her body pleading silently for more, for release, even as she fought to hold onto the last threads of control.
"I came so deep inside it," Alastor purred against her throat, the low vibration of his voice stroking her nerves like velvet over flame. His lips pressed to her pulse point, an open-mouthed, possessive kiss that burned hotter than any touch.
"Over and over," he murmured, each word a brand against her flushed skin. Charlie's breath faltered, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. Her body tightened around him, thighs wrapping instinctively around his own, locking him in place, needing him closer, deeper—hers.
Her hand, still wrapped around the full, pulsing weight of his arousal, began to move faster—stroking with a firmer grip now, fueled by the way he growled in her ear. His hips bucked slightly, the movement reflexive, betraying a crack in his composure. Still, his voice remained smooth—sinful—each syllable dripping with lust.
"Wondering how you'd feel… leaking full of me," he growled, the dark promise in his voice shaking her to her core. Her body tensed, trembling violently against him as his fingers continued their relentless torment—pinching, rolling, tugging at her nipples with exquisite cruelty, drawing sharp cries from her lips.
Charlie's pace on him quickened, her grip unrelenting now. She stroked him harder, faster, desperate, her breath ragged in his ear. "You like this, don't you? You're close too."
His laughter was strained now—still dark and wicked, but thinner, like a thread stretched to its breaking point. "Oh, darling," he breathed, voice roughening around the edges, "I could come just from watching you fall apart like this."
Her body clenched around nothing, the tension unbearable, her core soaked, her hips grinding with desperate rhythm against the thick muscle of his thigh. His name slipped from her lips in a shaky, broken whisper, again and again, until it was nothing more than a chant of need.
Alastor's hands remained merciless on her breasts, fingers kneading with firm precision, drawing out every last moan and gasp. His thumbs tormented her nipples, flicking, circling, pressing down in those perfect, cruel motions that had her writhing—every nerve alight, every muscle screaming for release.
"You felt it, didn't you?" he rasped, his voice cracking despite his best efforts, hips twitching in time with her strokes. "Every stroke. Every thrust. Every time I imagined myself buried so deep inside you—"
His head dropped to her shoulder, jaw clenched as he gasped against her skin, the pace of her hand driving him closer to the edge. "You're going to make me come, sweetheart. Right here. Right against your stomach—while you fall apart in my hands."
Charlie's moan was wild and raw, her hips grinding down hard, fingers tightening around him with every pull. The air between them was electric, vibrating with tension, with want, with the impending fall.
His thigh rolled up one final time, grinding into her swollen clit with brutal precision.
"Come for me, Charlie," he growled, his voice no longer smooth but ragged, primal. "Now."
She shattered.
Her cry was high and broken, her entire body locking up against him before convulsing violently, waves of pleasure crashing through her in an overwhelming flood. Her back arched, her nails raked down his back, and her head fell back with a strangled sob of bliss.
And Alastor—watching her break, feeling her hand stroke him faster, tighter, hotter—couldn't hold back. With a sharp, guttural growl, he came against her, spilling hot and thick across her hand, her stomach, both of them trembling through it, breathless, consumed.
Their bodies clung together in the aftermath, trembling and soaked in heat, fingers still digging into flesh, breaths tangling between kisses and gasps.
The aftershocks of their climax hadn't even begun to settle before Alastor moved again—fast, frantic, possessed.
His breath was still ragged, warm puffs dragging across the sweat-slicked curve of her throat as his body trembled with the remnants of release. But there was no calm settling in him, no satiation. If anything, the heat in his blood was only rising, his rut clawing its way to the surface with renewed, merciless hunger.
He wasn't finished.
He was starving.
"Alastor—" Charlie began, breathless, still blinking stars from her vision—but he was already on her again.
A low, feral growl rumbled from deep in his chest as his hands seized the front of her blouse. The once-tidy button-up was already rumpled, clinging damply to her flushed skin, and it didn't stand a chance. With a savage yank, he tore it open, buttons flying off in all directions, clicking and bouncing across the floor like thrown dice. Her bra was torn off in the same breath, baring her breasts to the open air and the raw heat of his gaze.
She gasped, instinctively moving to shield herself, about to berate him, but then—she saw him.
His eyes.
They glowed, a visceral red that pulsed with unbridled lust. His pupils had nearly swallowed the color, blown wide with pure, feral need. His lips parted, a soft, stunned inhale dragging into his lungs like he couldn't quite believe the vision in front of him. He wasn't just looking at her—he was devouring her, his gaze burning across her skin with a hunger that made her stomach twist and her thighs press together, trembling.
Charlie lowered her arm slowly, deliberately and Alastor lunged.
His mouth descended with no preamble, no restraint—latching onto one nipple with a growl that vibrated through her chest. He sucked deep and hard, lips sealed tight, his tongue flicking and swirling around the sensitive bud before his teeth grazed, scraped, bit just enough to make her gasp aloud.
Her hands flew into his hair, fisting in the soft strands with a desperate grip. Her head fell back, mouth open on a cry as he fed on her, savoring every shiver, every ragged breath she gave him. His hand was already on her other breast, kneading it roughly in his palm, his thumb rolling over the taut peak in relentless, rhythmic circles that made her entire body jolt with need.
And all the while—his hips moved.
He was hard again. Still flushed from their earlier release, still twitching against her, and he rutted forward with slow, grinding thrusts against her stomach once more, seeking friction, dragging his arousal across her skin as though the mere contact would ground him, calm him. It didn't.
"F-Fuck, Alastor—!" Charlie gasped, her voice high and shaking, her thighs parting instinctively for him even before he could ask. She clung to him, panting, her words spilling free in breathless disbelief. "Y-You're not… not done, are you?"
He pulled back just slightly, lips wet and gleaming with spit, his face flushed, eyes wild.
"No," he rasped, voice shredded with need. "Not even close."
She shivered at his tone—not even close—a guttural promise laced with hunger that made something deep inside her clench. And before she could respond, he moved.
In a blur of motion, he spun them around, pressing her back into the edge of his desk with enough force to scatter papers, pens, and equipment across the surface. The sharp scrape of objects falling to the floor was barely registered before his hands were on her again. In the next breath, he lifted her effortlessly, like she weighed nothing, and planted her atop the cleared surface, her legs dangling over the edge, her breath coming fast and shallow.
Charlie barely had time to adjust before his hands reached for her pants. The fabric, already soaked through and clinging to her thighs, peeled away under his eager fingers. The way he tugged them down—desperate, single-minded—made her heart pound against her ribs. He stripped her down to her panties, and even those were hardly a barrier. The thin fabric was soaked, darkened with arousal, clinging to every curve between her legs, the slick heat beneath them painfully obvious.
Alastor let out a sound that sent a pulse straight through her—a low, primal noise, part moan, part snarl.
And then he dropped to his knees before her.
Charlie startled, reaching forward instinctively. "Wait—!"
But he was already there, his hands locking around the backs of her knees as he yanked her forward, dragging her to the edge of the desk. The move stole her breath. Her thighs fell open under the pressure of his grip, and her soaked panties were shoved aside, exposing her dripping heat to the cool air—and to him.
He didn't hesitate.
Alastor's mouth sealed over her folds with a groan that vibrated through her body. His tongue parted her with a slow, devastating stroke—broad, wet, and unyielding. He licked her like he was savoring the first taste of a long-denied craving, gliding over her soaked heat before circling her clit with cruel, calculated precision.
Her head tipped back instantly, a raw cry tearing free. "Oh—god—"
Her fingers scrambled over the desk's surface, seeking something to anchor herself as her hips jerked forward. Alastor growled into her, his grip tightening around her thighs as he dragged her even closer, locking her in place. His mouth sealed over her clit again, sucking it between his lips while his tongue flicked and rolled over the sensitive bud in measured, relentless pulses. Every movement was deliberate, crafted to unravel her.
Then he changed tactics.
His tongue slid lower, tracing her entrance before plunging inside, its length unnaturally deep, writhing against her inner walls with an expertise that left her breathless. The sensation was overwhelming—every twist and curl of his tongue coaxing sounds from her throat she barely recognized.
"Al-Alastor—"
Her hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he worked her over. And then, as if to shatter whatever control she still clung to, he added his fingers.
One slid inside her with a force that left her gasping, his long digit stretching her like nothing else could. It curled deep, brushing over a spot that made her entire body spasm, muscles clenching hard around him. The intrusion was so deliberate, so calculated, it felt like her own two fingers couldn't compare to the way he filled her with just one.
Alastor let out a throaty chuckle, the vibration rippling through her core. He added another finger, his pace unrelenting, the thick stretch drawing broken cries from her throat.
"Please—" Charlie begged, her voice raw and trembling.Release, mercy, more—she couldn't tell anymore. All she knew was the heat building higher and higher, burning through her veins with each precise curl of his fingers, each sweeping drag of his tongue.
Alastor switched between plunging his tongue into her and lavishing her clit with swift, torturous circles. His fingers pumped in and out of her, stretching and filling her until the pleasure bordered on pain. His knuckles pressed flush against her entrance, thumb occasionally grazing her swollen nub, sending sparks of sensation through her entire body.
Every touch was expertly calculated. Every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers, drew her closer to the edge until she was trembling, her thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head.
He groaned into her, his lips and tongue relentless. "You're so...perfect."
Charlie whimpered, her hips bucking against his face as he continued devouring her. His fingers never faltered, thrusting deep before curling, rubbing against her most sensitive spot with a rhythm that left her gasping.
"Alastor—shit—" Her voice broke, her body arching off the desk as pleasure coiled tight within her, her breaths coming in shallow, desperate pants.
He sucked her clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it in tight, maddening circles. His fingers twisted and pressed deep, each movement crafted to drive her higher, harder, faster. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think—only feel as he tore her apart from the inside out.
"Alastor—! I—I'm—oh—fuck—"
She shattered.
The orgasm ripped through her like wildfire, muscles clenching violently around his fingers as her thighs trembled against his grip. Her entire body convulsed, back arching off the desk as pleasure surged through her in waves, one after another until her vision blurred and all she could do was scream his name.
Alastor held her through it, never breaking rhythm, his tongue and lips drawing out every last tremor, coaxing out every shiver and quiver until she was left gasping, twitching, reduced to a helpless, trembling mess sprawled across his desk. He continued, relentless, until her cries softened to whimpers and her legs trembled uncontrollably from the overstimulation. Only when her body went limp did he finally relent.
He rose slowly. Purposefully.
His hands slid up her thighs as he stood, smearing the slick of her arousal over her skin with possessive reverence. His fingers traced idle patterns along her trembling muscles, his own breathing labored, chest rising and falling as if he had been the one unraveling under such merciless pleasure. His mouth glistened with her arousal, his lips parted and wet, catching the faintest glint of light as he panted through the haze of his own need.
She could see the hunger simmering in his glowing eyes, the way his pupils swallowed the crimson irises until only thin rings of red remained. And then, in that charged moment between them, she saw it—the last thread of his control snap, fraying and splintering under the weight of his desire.
His rut surged to the surface like a wildfire—hungry, unstoppable.
Alastor didn't speak. He simply gripped her by the hips and dragged her flush to the edge of the desk, his fingers digging into her skin with a desperation that left her breath hitching. He positioned himself between her spread thighs, his cock fully hard and flushed, pressing insistently against her dripping entrance. He hissed through his teeth at the contact, his jaw tightening, the sound raw and strained.
And Charlie—she was captivated.
The sight of him undone, all composure shattered, rut burning through him like a fever, left her breathless. The way his shirt clung to his shoulders, open just enough to reveal the faintest hint of chest fluff, the way his hair fell in disarray, the twitching of his ears—every detail added fuel to the fire that already raged inside her.
He looked feral. Possessive. Completely undone. And she wanted all of it.
Their eyes met, his chest heaving, her own breath coming shallow and fast. Despite everything, there was a hesitation between them—a moment of realization that this was different. Different from the phantom toy that had left her feeling haunted and unfulfilled. Different from the desperate rush of hands and mouths that had brought them to this point. This was real. Raw. And the anticipation of it made her entire body quiver.
Charlie nodded. Alastor growled, the sound tearing from his throat with an intensity that sent heat flooding through her all over again. With that single, savage noise, he thrust forward—deep and unrelenting, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
Charlie cried out, her body jolting with the force of him, pleasure reigniting instantly, raw and electric. The sensation of him inside her—hot, thick, filling her so completely—was a shock to her system. It was nothing like what she felt through toy, its phantom touch unable to compare to the warmth and weight of him now. Alastor's presence was real, solid, grounding her even as he tore her apart.
He didn't give her a moment to adjust. His hands clamped down on her thighs, holding her open, keeping her pinned as he began to move—fast, desperate, deep. His thrusts were brutal, each one slamming into her with a force that left her breath hitching, her cries echoing through the room. There was nothing gentle or restrained about him now. His movements were rough, his grip bruising, his hips snapping forward with a primal urgency that bordered on madness.
And Charlie? She took all of it. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer, nails raking down his back as if desperate to keep him from pulling away. The rough, desperate rhythm of his rut left her mind reeling, her body alight with sensation. And through it all, her eyes remained locked on him—on the way his shirt hung loose, the way his chest rose and fell, the way his hair clung to his forehead with sweat.
He was feral. Possessive. Unhinged. And he was hers.
Their bodies moved in a frantic, fevered rhythm, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge. His voice broke through the haze, a low, guttural snarl that vibrated through her chest. "Mine."
The word shattered something within her. Her grip tightened, her hips bucking up to meet his, desperate to take him deeper, to feel every inch of him. The pleasure was overwhelming, building higher and higher with each relentless thrust until she was nothing but raw sensation.
Her head tipped back, a cry torn from her lips as she shattered around him, her entire body convulsing with the force of her climax. And still, he kept moving, chasing his own release with a ferocity that left him groaning her name through clenched teeth.
His cock throbbed within her, hard and demanding, driven by a need that refused to fade. Without withdrawing, he hooked his arms beneath her thighs and lifted her effortlessly from the desk. The motion sent another pulse of pleasure through her, her body clenching instinctively around him as he carried her across the room.
Her arms tightened around his shoulders, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The friction of him moving within her, even slightly, left her shaking all over again.
He reached the bed and lowered them onto it, his body never leaving hers. The mattress creaked beneath their weight, but the softness did nothing to ease the raw intensity of their connection. His hips rolled against her, slow and deliberate, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from her oversensitive body.
And then he started again.
His pace built steadily, thrusting deeper, grinding against her in ways that left her gasping. Alastor's lips clashed with hers as he drove into her wet heat. The sheets tangled beneath them, cool fabric crumpling around her body as his weight settled over her. His hips pressed forward, rocking against her in a fevered rhythm that only intensified with every passing second.
He pulled back just enough to catch her gaze, his eyes blazing with hunger. His voice was rough, shredded by desire. "You—are mine. And I am not...stopping."
Charlie could only nod, the words falling apart on her tongue as pleasure tore through her. Her nails dragged down his back, leaving faint red lines beneath the already rumpled fabric of his shirt. His chest fluff was exposed where the buttons had burst, the dampness of sweat clinging to the hair and skin beneath.
He drove into her again—hard, deep, his cock stretching her so fully she could feel the press of him against every sensitive spot inside her. Her walls clenched around him, muscles spasming as he thrust faster, rougher, a manic need evident in every movement.
"Oh—fuck—Alastor—" Her voice broke, a strangled cry pulled from her throat as her legs locked around his waist. He surged into her, groaning as she squeezed him, her body clinging desperately to every inch he gave.
"You're...taking me so well," he growled, his words ragged and cracked. "So perfectly...no one else could ever...handle this."
The way he said it, possessive and reverent, sent a shiver straight down her spine. His rut had consumed him entirely, stripping away the polish and grace he usually held himself with. He was pure hunger now, a creature driven by instinct, and she was his prey. But it was her own need that had her hips bucking up to meet his, her voice rising in a shameless, broken moan with every brutal thrust.
He shifted her body, lifting her legs higher until her knees pressed against his shoulders. The angle was devastating. His cock drove even deeper, hitting spots that made her mind go blank. Her hands scrabbled for purchase against his arms, her nails digging into his skin as he continued his merciless pace.
"Harder," she gasped, her breath coming in shallow, frantic bursts. "Please, Alastor—more—"
"Oh, I will give you...everything," he snarled. "I'll fill you until there's nothing left. Until you feel me for days. Until you can't walk without remembering who you belong to."
The words left her reeling, pleasure surging through her until it felt like she would split apart from it. His hips snapped forward, relentless and unforgiving, his cock slamming into her with a force that left her teetering on the edge of madness.
And then he came.
Hot, thick release spilled into her, flooding her insides with a heat that left her gasping. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt before—real and consuming and impossibly satisfying. The phantom feeling had only mimicked the stretch of him, but it had never been able to do this. Never able to leave her so thoroughly filled that she could feel the wet heat of his climax spreading deep within her.
She trembled beneath him, eyes wide, body still shuddering as the pleasure twisted through her. But Alastor didn't stop. Even as he emptied himself into her, his hips continued to move, his cock grinding against her sensitive walls, pushing his release deeper.
"That's it," he breathed, his voice rasping with the effort to form words. "Feel it. Feel how much I've given you. How much more I will give you."
He grabbed her hand and pressed it low on her abdomen, forcing her palm to feel the bulge of him still inside her, the thickness of his cock shifting with every ruthless grind.
"Do you feel that?" he whispered, his voice tinged with something manic, something ravenous. "That's me. All of me. Filling you completely. So deep...you can feel me here." His hand pressed over hers, pushing down just enough to make her gasp at the intensity of it.
Charlie's eyes rolled back, her body arching under the overwhelming sensation. The heat, the pressure, the relentless stretch of him—she was drowning in it, lost to the pleasure that twisted and surged through her.
"Alastor—" she choked, her voice a strangled mess. "I can feel you...God, I can feel everything—"
He laughed, a wild, feral sound that sent tremors down her spine. "And I'm not done."
He pulled her closer, guiding her onto her hands and knees. The sudden shift left her head spinning, her arms shaking as he slid back inside her in one brutal thrust. She cried out, her voice muffled against the sheets as he began to move again, each stroke deliberate, devastating.
His hands gripped her hips, pulling her back to meet his thrusts, his cock spearing into her with a force that left her thighs quaking. Every time he slammed into her, her body rippled with pleasure, her own release building once again, frantic and all-consuming.
"I'll fill you again," he growled. "Again and again until it's all you can feel. Until you're ruined for anything else."
His words tore through her, her own climax barreling toward her with a force that left her helpless to resist. The wet, obscene sound of their bodies meeting echoed around them, tangled with their frantic breathing and her gasped cries.
"Oh—fuck—" Her voice broke as another orgasm crashed over her, her walls spasming around him, milking him for everything he had. The sensation of him still throbbing, still releasing within her, only pushed her higher, left her reeling and desperate for more.
Alastor's pace only grew more frenzied, rut-addled madness taking hold as he drove into her, over and over, his hips slamming into her backside with reckless abandon. His fingers dug into her skin, holding her in place as he chased his own pleasure, his words tumbling out in a jagged, breathless litany.
"Mine...All mine...I'll fill you until it's dripping out of you...Until you can't—"
Another hot, thick rush of fluid spilled into her, and her entire body convulsed, sensation spiraling out of control. Her knees gave out, collapsing onto the sheets, but he refused to release her. Instead, he followed her down, his chest pressing against her back as his cock continued to pulse, releasing more warmth into her depths.
Alastor's chest remained pressed against her back, Alastor held her steady, his fingers pressing into her hips as his pace slowed to a grinding, deliberate rhythm. Each slow thrust dragged out the wet, lewd sound of their bodies meeting, the slick, filthy squelch that filled the room without shame. His breath came hot and heavy against her ear, punctuated by dark, lilting laughter.
"Oh, my dear," he purred, voice thick with amusement and something far more twisted. "You sound so utterly lovely... so ruined."
Charlie's face burned red as the words reached her. Her head spun from the intensity of his movements, the overwhelming fullness that stretched and consumed her. His cock filled her completely, leaving no room for anything but him, and the constant friction of his steady, purposeful thrusts made it impossible to think. She was achingly sensitive, every nerve set alight, every touch pushing her closer to unraveling. But even more than the sensations, it was the filthy sounds—his release mixing with her own, the shameless mess between them—that had her gasping.
"Alastor—" she whimpered, her voice high-pitched, trembling. "I... I can't—"
"Oh, yes you can." He whispered the words into her ear, teasing, his manic giggle bubbling forth as though he couldn't contain his delight. "You're doing so well, my darling. Such a good girl for me."
The praise sent a new rush of heat through her, thighs quaking as she buried her face against the sheets, nails curling into the fabric. The embarrassment, the intensity, the relentless stretch—it left her on the edge, trembling and vulnerable, clinging to every sound he made, every word that fell from his lips.
"Do you hear it?" Alastor cooed, a sing-song edge to his voice. "The beautiful mess we've made of you? Everything I've given you, spilling out of you, making you so deliciously soaked."
Charlie's breathing stuttered, her cheeks burning as the reality of it hit her. She could feel it all—the slick, sticky warmth coating her thighs, his release still leaking from her with every movement, every shift of his hips. The sound was mortifying, and yet it only made her tighten around him, the fullness so overwhelming she thought she might break.
"Good girl," he praised again, his tone soft and lilting, his grin wolfish and sharp. "Such a good girl, taking everything I give you."
Charlie's head swam, her heart racing as his words sank in. The praise made her body react instinctively, her thighs clenching, her breath coming in sharp pants. She felt lightheaded, overwhelmed by the sensation of him, by the filthy words spilling from his lips, by the obscene, wet sounds of his cock still moving within her.
"You're mine," he crooned, his tongue flicking against the shell of her ear, his hips rolling in slow, languid circles. "All mine. And I'm not done, darling."
Her legs trembled as she let out another helpless sound, her flushed face pressing into the mattress, her voice muffled but still audible. She was wrecked—shaking and overstimulated—but he didn't let up. His slow, grinding thrusts kept her teetering on the edge, prolonging her pleasure, drawing out every sound he could coax from her.
"Let's try something new, shall we?" he murmured, his grin audible in his voice. In one fluid motion, he withdrew, leaving her breathless and trembling. Before she could protest, his hands moved to guide her, shifting her onto her back and then up. Her world tilted as he pulled her to straddle him, her legs trembling as she settled on top of him.
"A-Alastor?" she stammered, her voice breathless, her face flushed. "What—"
"Shhh," he hushed her, his hands gripping her thighs as he eased her down onto him. The moment he was inside her again, her voice broke into a cry, her head falling back. His cock stretched her so completely that she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but the sensation wasn't pain—it was pure, devastating pleasure.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low, reverent. His hands guided her hips, encouraging her to move. "Go on, my darling. Show me how much you need me."
Charlie was shaking, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Her cheeks were red, her body trembling as she tried to find a rhythm. The sensation of being on top, of feeling every inch of him sliding into her, filling her again and again, left her gasping. She couldn't stop the sounds spilling from her lips—desperate, needy moans that seemed to delight him.
"There you go," he praised, his hands squeezing her thighs. "That's it. Such a good girl, taking me so well."
His words pushed her further, made her movements more frantic. She rode him, her body moving with a desperation that bordered on madness. Every bounce, every grind, sent shocks of pleasure radiating through her, made her breath hitch and her voice rise. She was panting, whining, whimpering, completely lost in the intensity of it all.
Alastor's own voice was a mix of low growls and manic laughter. "You feel that? The way you squeeze me so perfectly... the mess we're making together." He grinned up at her, his eyes bright and wild. "You're so beautiful, my dear. So wonderfully ruined."
Charlie's face was crimson, her heart pounding as she tried to keep moving, her body shaking from the overwhelming pleasure. "I... I can't..." she gasped, her voice high and strained. "Alastor, I—oh god—"
"My songbird," he murmured, his hands guiding her hips in slow, deliberate circles. "You're doing so well. You're perfect."
The praise hit her hard, her breath catching as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. She gasped, her thighs trembling, her head tilting back as she clung to his shoulders. The slick, messy sound of their union filled the room, each movement creating that wet, shameless squelch that only drove her higher.
Alastor's praise melted into the air like sugar dissolving in heat, his words still laced with manic delight as he held her steady, forcing her to move against him even when her strength began to falter. His hands roamed her body—touches alternating between possessive and worshipful—tracing the trembling muscles of her thighs, the curve of her hips, the sweat-slicked line of her back.
"Such a good girl," he crooned, his voice syrupy sweet, gluttonous. "Show me how much you need this... how much you need me."
And then—something shifted.
Charlie blinked, her vision blurring with tears of pleasure, her body alight with sensation. But as her eyes met his, she saw the change—felt it before her mind could even comprehend what was happening.
Alastor's voice dropped, deepening into a distorted rumble that vibrated through her bones like the distant growl of a thunderstorm. The sound crawled down her spine, leaving her shivering, heat coiling in her core like a living thing. The playful madness in his tone twisted into something darker, something primal and all-consuming.
And he was changing.
His body swelled beneath her, chest expanding, shoulders broadening as if his very form strained against the confines of his skin. His hips thickened, grip becoming ironclad, fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave bruises. The weight of him increased, forcing her down, trapping her against him like prey caught in a hunter's snare.
But it was his face that truly left her breathless.
His smile stretched wider, the sharpness of his teeth exposed in a grin that bordered on grotesque. Green stitches wove along the corners of his lips, holding that predatory grin in place like something forcibly torn open and sewn shut. His eyes flickered with static, the radio dial pupils spinning erratically before settling into something molten and terrible.
The antlers on his head twisted and grew, branching outward like gnarled, diseased roots clawing toward the ceiling. They were no longer just decorative—no longer the quaint little symbols of his persona. They were monstrous, eldritch, a crown of madness that made him look more beast than man.
And Charlie...she couldn't look away.
Fear curled in her stomach, tangled with something else, something intoxicating. This creature was terrifying—feral, wild, so much more than anything he'd ever shown her before. Yet, somehow, all she could think was that he was still hers. This monster was hers.
She was helpless against the onslaught of sensation, of fear and pleasure colliding and merging until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. His cock stretched her more than before, thickening, pressing into every sensitive part of her with punishing precision. The shape of him had changed, subtly but undeniably, forcing her body to adjust to the new, overwhelming fullness.
"Don't stop now, darling," he cooed, his voice a guttural growl wrapped in saccharine delight. His grip on her hips tightened, angling her just right before thrusting upward with brutal force.
Charlie screamed.
He drove into her with a ferocity that bordered on cruelty, each thrust hitting that overstimulated spot inside her with mechanical, devastating precision. His thumb slipped between them, rubbing her clit in tight, unrelenting circles that had her nerves sparking like live wires.
Her body seized, muscles locking, eyes rolling back as her orgasm crashed through her with a force that left her shattered. And then—
"Oh god—" Her voice cracked, tears spilling down her cheeks as she felt it.
Her entire body jerked as she squirted, fluid gushing from her in high-pressure sprays that soaked them both, drenching his pelvis and the sheets beneath them. The embarrassment hit her instantly, her cheeks burning crimson as she gasped for air.
But Alastor only laughed, his voice bright and deranged, delight dripping from every word. "Oh, darling...how precious you are." He thrust into her again, drawing another helpless gush from her. "That's it... show me everything. Such a good girl. So perfect for me."
Charlie's body convulsed, her thighs trembling uncontrollably, every nerve left raw and throbbing. The wet, filthy sounds of their coupling only grew louder, the mess they were making undeniable, pooling beneath them in obscene puddles.
"Look at you...you've made such a mess." His eyes gleamed, the radio dials whirring and crackling with glee. "And I'm far from done."
He slammed into her again, his cock throbbing, twitching inside her as his own climax finally hit with the force of an earthquake. Hot, thick ropes of cum spilled into her, flooding her already-wrecked insides, making her whimper as the warmth pooled and leaked out around him.
"Yes...take it all," he growled, voice distorted and feral. "Every last drop. I'll fill you until you can't take anymore. Until you're so full it's dripping from you. Let me breed you dear"
Alastor's grip remained ironclad, his fingers sinking into her hips as his enlarged cock continued to drive into her with a rhythm that bordered on madness. The sensation was overwhelming—hot, slick, the heady mix of his release and her own arousal coating her thighs, staining the sheets beneath them.
She couldn't move. Couldn't think. Every nerve felt raw, overstimulated beyond reason, her body reduced to a trembling, helpless mess. Her voice came out in ragged gasps, torn from her throat with each relentless thrust.
"Alastor..." she whimpered, the plea slurred, her words dissolving into broken cries. "I...I can't..."
"It's okay, darling," he crooned, his voice cracking with something both soothing and twisted, his giggles warped and breathless. "You're mine. My perfect, good girl. You've done so well..."
The praise danced along her senses, muddling with the overstimulation until her mind blurred at the edges. Darkness crept into her vision, the world narrowing down to the feel of him still throbbing inside her, the unrelenting heat and friction pushing her far past her limits.
Charlie's body finally surrendered, her strength draining away as her consciousness slipped from her grasp. Her muscles went slack, her frame sagging forward, collapsing against his chest as her mind succumbed to exhaustion. Even then, she could feel him—his cock still buried deep within her, twitching and throbbing as he continued to pump more of his release into her limp, spent body.
He felt her go still—felt the way her breathing softened, her voice reduced to shallow, uneven breaths. And yet, his hips continued to roll, his own pleasure still cresting, desperate to wring every last drop from himself.
"Mm...that's it..." he murmured, his voice a rasped purr, his words punctuated by frenzied giggles. "Even now...you're still so warm...so perfect."
His movements slowed, hips grinding in a lazy, satisfied rhythm as the last of his release spilled into her. Thick, hot pulses that filled her so completely, leaving him breathless and dazed. The monstrous hunger that had clawed at him for days finally dulled to a gentle, lingering thrum.
Gradually, his breathing steadied, his chest rising and falling as his body came down from its rut-addled madness. The glow in his eyes dimmed, the sharp intensity fading into something softer, almost fond. His antlers shrank, retracting into their usual, delicate shape, the twisted, jagged branches smoothing back to their modest, decorative form. The green stitches that had marred his smile faded away, leaving only his usual sharp grin—exhausted, but deeply content.
Alastor gazed at her with something close to reverence, his gaze tracing her unconscious form where she lay draped over him, her head nestled against his chest, her limbs tangled around him like she belonged there.
"My darling..." he whispered, voice thick and uneven, his hand coming up to brush through her disheveled hair. "My perfect, good girl..."
He could feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones, the weight of his own spent body pressing him down against the mattress. The darkness pulled at him, coaxing him toward sleep, his limbs heavy and his breathing finally even.
With one last, lingering glance at Charlie's serene, unconscious face, Alastor let his own eyes fall shut. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close as he drifted into the deepest, most contented sleep he'd ever known.
Charlie woke slowly, consciousness seeping in like a distant hum. Her body felt heavy, languid, every muscle thrumming with a dull, delicious ache. She was warm, pressed against something firm and solid, her cheek resting against what felt like a rumpled dress shirt.
Then, awareness hit her with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
She was sprawled on top of Alastor, her legs tangled with his, her head nestled against his chest. The sheets beneath them were a mess—sticky and damp, the overwhelming scent of sweat and something far more obscene clinging to the air. Her thighs ached, her skin prickling with the raw, overstimulated sensitivity that lingered from everything he'd done to her.
And she was still leaking.
"Oh god..." she groaned, her voice rough and cracked. Embarrassment roared through her like wildfire, burning her cheeks as her fingers curled against his chest. She didn't dare move, didn't dare lift her head, her face practically buried against him in mortification.
Alastor's chest rumbled beneath her, his own breathing deep and steady. His arms remained wrapped around her, holding her close even in his sleep. He looked...serene. For all the madness and wild hunger that had consumed him, now he was oddly peaceful, his expression softened by whatever dream he might be having.
She swallowed hard, trying to will her heartbeat to settle. But every shift, every twitch of her legs reminded her of how utterly ruined she felt—sticky and sore, her insides still sensitive from the relentless attention he'd given her.
She groaned again, burying her face deeper against him. "What...what even was that...?" she whispered, voice muffled against his chest.
Alastor stirred, his fingers twitching against her back before he let out a contented sigh. His eyes fluttered open, the crimson glow softened by grogginess. And when he looked down at her, the sharp grin that curled
his lips was unmistakable.
"Well, well..." he purred, his voice rich and amused. "Good morning, darling. Slept well, I hope?"
Charlie stiffened, mortification twisting through her until her entire face burned. "Alastor..." she mumbled, her voice little more than a strangled whine. "I...I can't even—"
"Look at me?" he finished, his tone positively delighted. "Oh, my dear, there's no need to be so bashful." He chuckled, the sound bright and almost musical. "After all, you were quite vocal last night about what you wanted, hmm?"
She squeaked, her arms tightening against him. "I—! You—! It's...it's not the same!"
"Isn't it?" he teased, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine. "You did give me permission to ruin you, my dear. I merely...fulfilled that request to the best of my abilities."
Charlie groaned again, feeling like she wanted to melt through the bed and vanish entirely. But his voice, so calm and playful, eased some of the embarrassment that prickled beneath her skin. His touch was gentle now, soothing, as if coaxing her from the haze of their previous madness.
Alastor's mind wandered, an idle thought dancing through his head. He really would have to thank Niffty for that onahole. Who knew something so simple could have ignited such delicious chaos between them?
But he kept the thought to himself. No need to embarrass his darling any further.
"Well, as charming as this embrace is," Alastor continued with a grin, "we are quite the mess, aren't we?" He shifted beneath her, his nose wrinkling with mock disapproval. "Perhaps we should tend to that before we fuse with these sheets entirely."
Charlie groaned, her body aching as she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze. His smile was infuriatingly pleased, but there was something gentler beneath the mischief.
"I...I don't think I can even stand," she admitted, her cheeks still burning. "Everything...hurts."
"As it should," he replied cheerfully. "But never fear, darling—I shall take care of you."
With a surprising gentleness, Alastor gathered her in his arms and stood, his movements slow and careful. Charlie squirmed, acutely aware of the slickness between her thighs and the way her body still trembled from exhaustion. She tried to avoid his gaze, her embarrassment intensifying by the second.
The bathroom was spacious and elegant, polished tiles and soft lighting giving the room a serene, almost luxurious feel. Alastor eased her down into the bathtub, the cool porcelain a sharp contrast against her fevered skin.
She glanced up at him, arms folded over her chest as she tried to hide herself despite everything they'd done. "I...you don't have to—"
"Nonsense," he interrupted, already turning on the water, adjusting the temperature with the precision of someone who had far too much time on his hands. "I am nothing if not a man of my word, my dear. And I did promise to ruin you, didn't I?"
She sputtered, her hands flying to her face as he laughed. "You're awful," she muttered, her voice muffled by her palms.
"Perhaps," he agreed, his grin playful as he knelt by the edge of the tub. He dipped a cloth into the warm water, wringing it out before gently running it over her shoulders. "But you seem to enjoy it. And I must admit...I find your embarrassment quite endearing."
Charlie bit her lip, her eyes flicking up to meet his before quickly darting away. She could still feel him—still feel everything he'd done to her. But the way his hands moved now, gentle and sweet, was a stark contrast to the feral creature he'd been only hours before.
They didn't speak about what it meant. About what they were now. But the comfortable silence between them said more than words ever could. He washed her with a care that bordered on reverence, his touch gentle as he coaxed her aching muscles to relax.
"There, now," Alastor murmured, his fingers gliding through her hair. "Feeling a bit more yourself, darling?"
"Yeah..." she admitted, her voice soft. "Still sore, though."
"Good." His smile sharpened, a wicked gleam flickering in his eyes. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't."
She huffed, swatting weakly at his arm. But the smile that curled her lips was genuine, the tension that had knotted her chest easing away.
Eventually, he joined her in the tub, arms wrapped loosely around her as the warm water soaked away the remnants of their chaos. As they lounged together in the warm, soothing water, Charlie finally allowed herself to relax. Her body still ached, her limbs heavy and sore, but Alastor's gentle touch had coaxed away most of the discomfort. His fingers traced delicate circles along her shoulders, his gaze soft and amused as he studied her flushed face.
She could feel the embarrassment simmering just beneath her skin, but it was easier to bear now—easier to laugh off when he looked at her with such open delight. Whatever madness they'd indulged in, whatever strange and twisted connection had bound them together through the night, it had left her feeling...strangely whole. Fulfilled, in a way she hadn't known she craved.
They didn't speak about it—what this meant, where it would lead. But neither of them seemed to care.
Alastor's fingers played with the wet strands of her hair, his humming filling the air like a low, pleasant buzz. Charlie leaned back against him, letting her eyes drift shut, her breathing slow and even.
And as the water lapped gently around them, Alastor's thoughts drifted to the onahole that had started it all. He chuckled softly to himself, the sound more genuine than his usual bright, manic giggle.
Of all the things to come from such a simple, curious gift. Niffty had certainly outdone herself. He'd have to thank her, perhaps with a bouquet of cleaning detergent or something equally endearing. After all, without her peculiar little gift, none of this delightful chaos would have come to pass.
And as Alastor's arms tightened around Charlie, his fingers tracing lazy lines along her skin, he couldn't help but grin. Perhaps Niffty deserved more than thanks.
Perhaps she deserved a promotion.