Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Remember Reach	By : xxfatedsoulxx Category: +G through L > Halo Views: 40536 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Halo and all the races/characters herein are owned by Halo, Bungie, and Microsoft. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment purpose and I make no money from it.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
**A/N** This is a new territory for me, so please rate and review, even if to just leave comments and suggestions. If you enjoy it, leave a review and tell me why. (Yes, that helps me stay motivated to finish the story.) Also: Please enjoy.
~Beta'd by Envy~

Thick, cold air filled her lungs as she slowly roused herself. Her dull grey-blue eyes slowly scanning around the room as she fought to return to her senses. She was surrounded by dull purple walls on three sides and a glowing blue energy barrier at the fourth. Ignoring the sudden aches and pains that seemed to sprout up across her body, she slowly pressed herself up into a sitting position. Her mind flashed back to a command deck of any one of the UNSC ships she’d been aboard, and to their diagnostics readings reporting damages to the vessel, much the way her mind was struggling to assess and file each new pain and prioritize them.

As she slowly scanned across the small room, which she best assumed was actually a Covenant ship’s brig; a thick lock of dirty blonde hair fell across her eyes. She began to try and shake off her grogginess, as she looked down to herself, not expecting what she found. Instead of her sleek, blue MJOLNIR armor, she saw only pale skin and her nude form. There were several half-healed plasma burns and even more small scars that littered her otherwise flawless flesh. She ran a hand through her matted blonde locks, trying to gauge how long it’d been. Judging by her hair growth, two or three weeks had passed since her last memories of Reach. Pressing her palm flat against the cold, unyielding wall, she slowly pressed herself to herself to her wobbly feet.

The Spartan woman eased herself over towards the shimmering field that kept her locked in her cell and began to look about outside. The high-walled room beyond was open, easily three times the size of her own allotted area. In the center, there were pillars that added to the room’s majesty. To her far right of the corridor-like room, was the large door, fitted with multiple locks and mechanisms that were she’d seen open with surprising grace. The other end of the room, housed an upraised platform and glowing podium which she was sure housed the controls to the room’s cells.

As her grey-blue eyes slowly scanned the other active cells, she noticed that only one other - that she could see - was occupied by a rather mangled UNSC Marine. He looked as if he’d bore the brunt of a rather savage beating, and from her angle, it appeared as if he was missing his left arm just below the bicep. Other than the sleek and smooth metal surfaces and pillars in the foyer, there were several other beings listlessly moving about.

Grunts. Seven of them moving. Another eight sleeping near the pillars. She assessed, starting to try and work on a plan to escape. Her memory flashed back to what she remembered before cold confines and energy bindings. Her memory skipped back to Reach and everyone she could remember from it. Carter, Kat, Emile, Jorge, and Jun all racing to the top of the list of faces. Six. Guess I won’t be using that call sign any longer. She bitterly thought.

Mental images of Jorge throwing her out of the Covenant carrier towards Reach, sacrificing himself resurfaced as she began to test the edges of her cage with her fingertips. That was the last time I was on a Covenant ship. A twinge of sadness and regret arched into her mind as she recalled Jorge’s final words. Sadness she’d been too preoccupied with surviving to acknowledge before. She was hard-pressed to remember the last time she’d felt so close to a group of people. She’d spent so many missions working alone that she barely knew what it felt like to be part of a team again. Part of a family.

The deaths of each member of Noble had found ways to wrack her heart with a grief and pain she’d though she’d stamped out of herself. The memory of Kat’s helmet, burned through front to back by a sniper’s round caused her to nearly drop to her bare knees. She deserved a more dignified death. She painfully acknowledged as she finally gave up on the door. She moved over to the wall and let herself sink down its chilly surface and to the floor. She ignored the feeling of cold metal as it arched up her spine from her bare bottom, causing her to exhale in a plume of white mist of visible breath.

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on her knees and kept thinking about Reach, and its billions of inhabitants who’d perished. She bitterly remembered the sense of denial she’d forced upon herself when she’d seen Carter cast his helmet aside on their Pelican, and the sense of crushing defeat she’d had when she watched him commit suicide to destroy the Scarab barring hers and Emile’s path.

Emile. The man whom she’d felt one of the strongest connections to, and the one she’d fought along side right up until the end. She felt another wash of despair as she’d remembered his end. Watching his final acts and realizing that she’d wanted to die that day. She wanted to go out with Noble Team, her newfound family. The memory of thick, ashen air burning her lungs as she ripped off her helmet and tried to take as many Covenant Elites with her as she possibly could finally became her foremost thought.

So engrossed in memory lane was she that she didn’t even hear the group of Sangheili padding up to her cell until a garbled, demanding bark came to her. Slowly and defiantly, “Six” raised her head to glare up at the split-chin bastards standing beyond. The leader, wearing brilliant gold armor, looked to be of the Zealot classification. Judging by the way the others flanked him, and the way he stood, “Six” assumed him to be the Ship Master of her current prison’s vessel. On his rounded, large-mouthed head, sat a pointed golden helmet, with flat brims flaring to either side around the back in reminiscence of a peacock’s fanned feathers. His large, shoulder pauldrons bore marks that confirmed her suspicion of him being the Ship Master became more noticeable as he barked again, pointing at her through the field. She watched in disgust as the blue lights on his armor shimmered in the dank luminance of her prison. She very carefully pressed herself up to her feet, uncaring that her bare flesh was visible to all six eyes trained upon her. She knew if she‘d had a weapon, she‘d have burned each of their slimy hides out of existence.

After another moment of listening to his warbling, un-translated speech, she watched as he turned on his multi-jointed legs, pivoting his weight across his large, front phalanges, making the Forerunner glyph on his back plainly visible. One of the Grunts, or Unggoy as they called themselves, ran a waddling path over to the control panel and began to squawk back towards them. She set her weight on her toes, preparing herself, and as the energy field dropped, she surged forward from he perch, rushing the first Elite she could reach, unleashing a powerful kick to his chest.

Normally, her foot would have hammered clean through the Elite’s personal shield generator and caved in the armor around his chest, but without her MJOLNIR to enhance her strength, she found spongy resistance in the form of the Elite’s shields. His response was swift and decisive, reaching up his four fingered hand to catch her by the ankle and throw her over his head at swing.

Blood rushed to her head from the G-force of the wide arch and then she found herself crashing hard into the frosty cold deck. Stars exploded before her eyes and she felt the warm trickle of blood starting to pool where her forehead had split open on the unforgiving metal floor. The force of the blow also knocked the wind from her lungs, which only made it harder to breath as the Elite pressed down against her shoulders with his elbows and forearms. She felt the sharp, frigid metal of the bodyguard’s armor press down against her bare back, effectively pinning her to the floor. Her mind screamed to fight, but her cold addled muscles refused to cooperate, and she managed only a weak, futile jolt of herself.

“Six” found herself acutely aware of the second body guard slowly working his way around her and crouching by her head. He barked something in that same garbled language of theirs as he took her head in both of his large, strong hands. At first she expected to die. To have the beast twist her head about and snap her neck, but instead, she felt one of the alien’s thumbs curl about and rather violently shove something into her ear. Against her will, “Six” let out a small cry of pain as another cold, metal device pressed home against her eardrum.

She wanted to yank away, but the Sangheili grip was just too strong. He continued his grunting speech the entire time, and it took a moment, but “Six” realized she was starting to understand it. “- said stop struggling, Demon! Your fate will be decided by the Holy Ones!”

“Six” let herself go limp under the pair pinning her, curling her upper lip in fury, “Holy Ones? I wasn’t aware genocide was considered religiously pure to your pathetic kind.”

A swift, brain rattling blow upside the back of the head caused her to bite through the tip of her tongue, as the one who’d fitted her with a translator backhanded her. “Shut your mouth heretic! Your kind has already doomed their fate by destroying the holy relics!” He growled out, the four mandibles of his jaw spreading wide with each vicious word.

The one behind her let out an equal growl and pressed himself down tighter to her back, and she could feel the metal of his armor’s codpiece pressing against her bare backside. “This one seems different than the other. It‘s anatomy seems to have larger aspects in the torso, and lacking some in the lower region.”

“Six” could feel his thick, putrid breath against her neck, along with the brush of two of his mandibles. Once again, she started to try and struggle and break free of his grip but to no avail.

The Ship Master had finally moved back into her field of vision and looked down at her in what she could only interpret as a smug, arrogant pose. “That’s because this one is a female of their species. They are the one’s that are chosen to become the demons of their doomed race.”

“Six” didn’t have the energy to correct the Ship Master, nor the desire. If he wanted to believe that it was only women that became Spartans, all the better. The less they know of us the better. She let a small smirk part her full lips at the thought. The one holding her head looked up to the Ship Master as well. All eyes on him now, “Six” cast a short glance up to the one crouching in front of her, and spotted what she hoped to see: A plasma rifle hooked to his hip.

Her mind had barely started to come to a plan when she felt the Sangheili warrior on her back shift his weight a bit. Without pause or warning, his hand moved into the small space at her hip joint and between her legs. She gasped in shock as she felt one of his long, thick prehensile fingers curl up to meet her sex and begin to rub, prod, and explore her.

“Females of their species feel small and fragile down here. They must have small offspring to go with their race’s demure size.” The one pinned at her back said arrogantly.

The one at her head let loose a dark, low throated chuckle. “A filthy heretic like her would probably relish the idea of being taken by noble warriors such as us.”

The Ship Master let out a snide, disbelieving growl. “You would think to mate with a human, Voro?”

The one at her back let out a gruff, throaty laugh, while Voro barked back at the Ship Master, “Don’t dare impugn my honor Ship Master! I was suggesting torturing her for her heresy and getting some enjoyment out of it at the same time!”

The gold armored alien gave another sneering retort, “I do not care. Such a filthy, unholy act will not take place in my brig!” He commanded authoritatively.

The one at her back gave another savage chuckle and slowly raised himself away from her back, but his hand didn’t cease its intrusive probing of her most delicate flesh.

“Six” refused to show any stimulation to the touch, not pain nor pleasure as she felt herself being violated by the Sangheili at her back.

There was a long pause as the three warriors looked about each other. A long moment for her grabby, assailant to shove one of his fingers deeply into her entrance and beyond. Despite her loathing hatred of the beasts, she couldn’t stop her body’s natural reactions to the stimulation and she felt herself dampening to his eager touch.

Whether the Ship Master noticed his subordinate’s continued contravention of her womanhood or not, “Six” couldn’t tell, but she also wasn’t sure how long she could resist showing any further outward signs either. Humiliation and rage swam in her mind, mingled with a grotesque sense of pleasure at his intrusion. She began to cling desperately to her rage, holding onto it to try and keep a tactical, objective mindset. Her dull-grey eyes once again drifted to the plasma rifle on Voro’s hip, and she began to start ever so slightly moving her left arm, hoping to slip it out from under where it’d been pinned to her chest.

She could see that the Ship Master and Voro were pinned in a challenging stare down, and she knew this would be her best chance. Her arm was almost free, when suddenly she saw sets of eyes flash to her as the aliens’ mandibles spread a bit. The Ship Master was the first to speak, “What… is that scent!?” He exclaimed in boisterous shock.

The Sangheili on her back removed his hand from her now throbbing sex, and she watched the Ship Master’s eyes briefly flit to his bodyguard before looking back to her. She watched in horror as the Ship Master reached down to lightly adjust his codpiece, and the other warrior did something similar.

She felt her heart begin to race, as a fear gripped her that she’d never once had to consider. The idea of being raped by these aliens sent her mind racing to the horrid images of what it would be like, and the disgusting thoughts of how her first time would be with the likes of them.

Voro spoke up again, “You see, Ship Master? She begs for it.” He announced predatorily.

The Ship Master cleared his throat before practically shouting at his underlings, “Throw her back in her cell! NOW!” There was a new tone to his voice, one that the daring Voro didn’t even dare refute. The horror of what might have been washed from her mind as they roughly picked “Six” up by the arms and threw her backwards into her cell, causing her to tumble across her back and clean onto her stomach and chest at the back of the cell. Even before her unnaturally quick reflexes could kick in, she heard the barrier hum back to life. She looked up slowly, keeping her face clear of any visible emotion, despite the fact they were running rampant within her.

To her relief, they were all three on the other side of the barrier, and were already retreating from the brig. Her relief was short-lived; however, as she noticed all of them turn to stare as they marched on. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to understand the look of a predator stalking its prey, and for the first time she could recall, “Six” felt truly concerned for her future.

***

Several days past, and “Six” had been subjected to several bits of humiliation. Paraded around several parts of the ship in heavy energy binders that kept her from moving. She’d had a hose shoved into her mouth that dispensed a putrid, rotten-tasting, pasty sludge into her waiting maw, which she was forced to gulp down lest she drown on it. She’d gathered that it was as safe as she could expect, considering that the same filth was what the Grunts ate regularly.

She’d then been marched into one of the Grunt’s housing quarters, where she’d been pinned against a wall and literally blasted with icy cold fluids. She had assumed it to be water at first, but the iridescent blue glow suggested otherwise. It always left her feeling slimy and sticky, before she would be forcibly rubbed down with thick cloth. Since her waking in the brig, she’d not seen the Ship Master, Voro, or the intrusive Elite; though she got the feeling they were never far removed.

Instead, she was oft handled by an even lower ranking Elite, who didn’t seem to say much and was almost never armed - even if she could move to attempt at his weapon. She had her wounds and old plasma burns tended by some form of machine that seemed to work a lot like biofoam, minus the foam. Instead, it had used a strange form of plasma that had caused a rapid regeneration of her flesh and left her feeling remarkably pain free, and despite her original suspicions of torture, she was mostly just left alone in her cell.

The Marine across from her hadn’t been so lucky. In the three days aboard the ship - Wayward Soul - she hadn’t seen him conscious but for a few moments, and even then all he did was wail in agony. In fact, the only thing that she’d had happen to her was the constant banter from the Unggoy who seemed to think that the Prophets, or San’Shyuum, would want to perform some sort of exorcism on her. She’d even tried asking them what that entailed, but the jittery little creatures always streaked from her cell when she addressed them.

She’d taken to trying to keep cycle with the alien sentries and sleep when they did, but this proved next to impossible as they seemed to sleep very, very frequently. At what she assumed to be 0200, on her fourth night, her heightened senses alerted her and jostled her from her tentative slumber. She heard heavy feet padding the floor, right next to her. She rolled herself off of her side and onto her hands, knees, and toes. She came up in a low crouch, her hands held up in a defensive posture, but she was surprised to not see anything for a moment. She had barely started to lower her grip - chalking the sounds up to paranoia - when a slight ripple in the air in front of her drew her attention.

Had she been less groggy, she’d have spotted the stealth camouflage straight away, but because of her days of unrest, and lack of enhancing equipment, she was caught unawares as a massive four-fingered hand clamped down around her throat and hauled her a half meter from the floor. She choked for breath and unleashed a few futile attacks at the limb hoisting her about, but the iron grip refused to relent. As if on cue, the gold armored Ship Master came into view as the cascading effect of his invisibility wore off.

She felt something cold press against her stomach, as the beast shoved something into her bare abs. “Be silent, human!” He hissed at her. Not like she had much of a choice, but she complied as she noticed that what he’d pressed against her stomach was the stealth camouflage generator he’d used on himself. She watched as her hands and feet slowly disappeared from sight, and the alien carrying her shifted his grip. She was now held aloft less by a crushing motion of her throat, and more of a loose lock of the creature’s fingers under her jaw line and the back of her head.

She clutched onto his unshielded forearm as she was hauled out of the chamber and through the ship. She moved in directions that she’d never gone before, down and through long, grandiose passages of the Covenant carrier. “Six” felt her feet begin to fall asleep, but she didn’t dare make a move just yet. Held at nearly arm’s length, and with his hand poised to crush her throat, she didn’t estimate her chances would be very good at surviving an attack.

Instead, she did as commanded, and stayed silent for the entire venture from her cell and into an ornate, sparsely decorated chamber with a wall for trophies, a lavish, purple couch next to a small table, and a slightly oversized bed. She felt a surge of panic race through her again as she looked upon the Ship Master’s bedchambers. He finally let go of her as the door sealed shut behind him and dropped her to the floor. Her legs had gone numb, from lack of blood, and her knees appropriately gave way, depositing her into a heap upon his floor.

Without the connection to his armor system, the stealth field around her melted away to once again show off her pale, bare flesh. She reached down to rub her aching legs, as she got a familiar “pins and needles” feeling throughout them. Her grey-blue eyes watching as the gold armored Elite strut across the room, his head lightly bobbing and reminding her of a bird.

He finally rounded on her, at the far side of the room, near his trophy wall. He held in his hands, a pair of metal cutlasses - something “Six” had never seen done before. She watched as he adjusted them in his hands for a moment, as if feeling out their balance, and she knew that her torture was about to begin. To her amazement, however, the alien stalked over towards her, one of the weapons held out towards her, handle first. “Six” reluctantly moved to take the weapon, eying the beast for some form of treachery, but she found none. As her slender, feminine fingers closed around the hilt of the weapon, he released it and stepped back. She watched in a sort of stupor as he reached up to pull off his helmet and cast it aside onto the nearby bed. With it, his HUD disappeared from where it’d cast a glowing illumination over the Sangheili’s complex, dark blue eyes.

“Six” slowly regained her feet, watching in silence as the male before her got a feel for the blade, hefting it over once in his hand. She found the grip to be a bit awkward, but nothing she hadn’t endured when using Covenant weapons in the past. She looked across his thick, scaly brown face and neck. Not surprisingly, he too sported several visible scars about his unguarded flesh, another sign of his warrior race. Unable to stand it any longer, she finally spoke up, “So what’s this about?” Her voice cracked, atrophied from lack of use.

“I have heard many rumors about what you Demon’s are capable of. I will pit my skill against yours, and the victor shall claim their prize.” He stated evenly, and unlike the last time, his voice held no illusions of greatness. He spoke in an even tone that might have suggested he saw her as an equal, if only in combat regards.

“And what’s my prize?” She asked, setting her feet into an even spacing.

“You will be returned that which we took from you. The dignity and honor to wear your armor.”

“Six” stared at him for a moment. Surely he wasn’t foolish enough to put her back into her MJOLNIR armor, but he was saying it nonetheless. “And yours?” She asked, her sword’s tip arching up to point at her foe.

“You shall see.” He stated flatly, his own sword tip mirroring hers.

They stared each other down for a few moments, sizing one another up. Each held their pose, waiting, watching for any sign of falter or weakness in each other’s stance. “Six” watched as he set his weight forward on his large toes, less than a second before lunging off them at her. His sword coming down harshly at her. A lesser fighter could have easily been cut in twain by the arch of the blade, but “Six” wasn’t foolish enough to try and block the blow outright. Instead, she ducked left and under the diagonal swipe, close enough that she felt the wind sheer off the blade as it barely missed her skin.

She continued her fluid motion by leaping off the foot she’d shifted her weight to, going into a forward dash of her own. Her blade aimed to carve into the beast’s side, and while part of it was diverted thanks to his powerful armor, she felt the softer flesh underneath give way to her sharpened weapon.

He let out a grunt and spun at a speed “Six” was unfamiliar with facing without her MJOLNIR armor supplying her muscles with needed boosts, and slammed the flat of his weapon violently into her side before she could dodge again. The force of the blow was enough to lift her clear of her feet, and send her sprawling about the cold, purple deck of his chambers.

Training began to over-ride everything else, and she kept herself moving the second she hit the ground, a clash of metal on metal emanating from the spot she’d just rolled out of. “Six” rolled across her back and her weapon came up in a rapid arch, catching the hilt of her attacker’s sword as he drew it back for another downward swipe. The added force of her attack caused the Ship Master to be thrown off balance, the weapon and his arms going high over head. “Six” drew her feet up tight beside her seat, pressing her toes into the metal as she forced herself to stand in the wake of her attack to open his defense. Her blade came back down at the creature’s throat, but before it could make contact, he twisted his waist and her sword instead impacted his left pauldron. With no way to bring her blade back to herself, she was open for the subsequent kneeing.

The blow caught her in the abs, lifting the smaller framed combatant off the ground for a second and knocking the wind out of her. She barely resisted the urge to wretch as she came back down onto her toes and a hammering blow caught her to the back as his sword-arm came back down. The force of the attack buckled her knees, and once again she was deposited to the floor. Ignoring the pain, she dug her toes into the floor and launched herself into a flat spin on the floor, her bare flesh gliding across the smooth surface of as she came about to kick him in both knees. His knees that functioned much like her own. The attack caught him on the inside of both knees, shoving them outward and causing him to fall backwards with a clatter of his armor as he landed on his back.

“Six” did a kip-up to regain her feet, her sword coming down for a finishing blow. An attack that should have landed, but he had activated his personal energy shields. The woman felt her weapon sink slightly into the energy field before being shunted back and a leg lashed out to catch her in the chest. She felt her ribs crack under the force of the blow, and for a third time she was pitched to her back, this time without a sword. She’d lost her grip and the weapon went skittering across the deck and panged against the far wall. Before she could make any move to recover it though, the Elite was on his feet again, the tip of his cutlass pressing up under her chin and to her bare throat.

“I am impressed human.” He stated in what “Six” assumed to be a jovial tone. “But you are no match for a Sangheili warrior.”

She thought to call him out. To insist that she’d killed hundreds, if not thousands, of his kind. She thought better though, as she knew better than to provoke the beast with a cutlass to her throat. She just glared up at him, waiting for the draw-back before the strike, but it didn’t come. Instead he lowered his shoulders and stood up, his sword held dismissively at his side.

“Six” spun on the spot and made to lunge for her weapon and continue the duel, but she only made it as far her hands and knees before she felt his large hand close around her neck from behind. As before, she felt herself effortlessly hauled up from the deck and dangling in front of him. She unleashed a quick pair of kicks toward his stomach, but both attacks met with the thick resistance of his still active shields.

She didn’t have long to try and process what prize the alien wanted from her as he marched pointedly towards the bed. Deep down, she knew that she was, in fact, the prize he’d fought for. A new sense of panic and adrenaline surged within her and she went wild, kicking, punching and clawing at his stomach and arm; anything she could reach. The warrior threw her onto the bed in a swift motion, but his large hand never let go, only pinned her face down into the thick blankets of his bunk.

She began to ineffectually thrash about, attempting to free herself as she him doing something behind her. She managed to catch flesh with a wild, un-aimed kick behind her back, but the scales of her attacker seemed to absorb the attack effortlessly. She felt his legs come down on either side of hers, and his haunches settle down across the backs of her thighs. It was a disgusting feeling, as the thick brown scales of his hide rubbed at her unprotected calf muscles.

In one smooth motion, the alien behind her scooped his double-thumbed hand under her waist and lifted, forcing her body to bend at the knee and hips. In tandem, his other massive hand never left the back of her neck - instead only drawing it down towards her knees. Pinned, face down in the fabric of his bed; she felt his hand slide down her stomach, across her fur, and between her legs. Just as before, he was none too gentle with her inexperienced womanhood. She resisted the urge to scream, knowing no one would help her. She would refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing if he hurt her.

Like before, her body reacted to his touch against her will. She felt herself begin to moisten, at his vigorous stimulations of her tender flesh. She started to feel her breath come quicker, forcing her to pant for breath in the thick fabrics about her face. A mop of unkempt, dirty blond hair fell across her eyes, obscuring her vision of the dark-brown alien as he poised himself at her entrance.

With a sudden, violent thrust, “Six” felt her velvet part for his eager thickness. She couldn’t hold back the scream of pain and shock that escaped her, echoing through the cavernous room. Hers was drowned out only by his wild, passionate bay as he threw his head back like a howling wolf. His four mandibles spread wide as he let out a long, deep cry. His manhood sheathed painfully to its hilt inside her throbbing slickness. He was as large as one might expect for a creature that stands nearly nine foot tall, and to make it worse, his shaft was lined with thick, hard spine like scales.

Rather than tear at her flesh, these rubber-like nubs that lined him instead seemed to add a throbbing texture throughout her innards. She tried to pull away, but his grip held fast, keeping him pressed to her core, the tip of his alien member threatening to press clear through to her womb. The pain might have normally been unbearable, but she was a Spartan and could resist pain, or so she thought. The savage beast pulled himself to her entrance before ramming himself back into her with a painful slapping of thighs against her buttocks.

She tried to scramble, but propped on her knees and held down, there was nothing she could do as he began to ravage her. She continued to cry out with each new, hard thrust that parted her complaining lips. Stars danced at the edges of her vision as he continued to force himself into her, the wet squishing sounds barely audible between their combined bays of pleasure and pain. She felt as if he was so thick, and so long, that he filling every part of her canal to its limit.

The more he got into it, the harder and faster each thrust came. Each new, wet slap of flesh against scale resonated throughout the chamber as he leaned in tight against the curve of her back. His muscular chest curving to find her shoulder blades, while he worked his powerful hips to explore every bit of her untamed altar. Despite the wild amounts of pain, she began to feel something worming about in her stomach, threatening to twist her very insides. She managed to gulp down a breath of air as he pulled her head away from his bed, only to have it race from her lungs in a gasp of pleasure and pain.

His four mandibles sank into her bare shoulder and neck, causing crimson to roll down her front and be soaked up by the thirsty sheets she was so aptly pinned against. The taste of her blood just drove him wilder, and he hammered into her with enough force to break a lesser woman. Despite her best efforts, she found that her sex was responding to his in perfect harmony, and she found the twisting in her gut to be growing stronger and stronger.

Endorphins began to kick into overdrive within her, as her body began to drown out the pain that threatened to rip her asunder. She heard his lustful cries grow longer, louder even before she felt his spiny shaft start to pulsate harder and thicken even more. The spines seemed to grow more outward, until she felt his thrusts become shallow. He’d become so thick inside her, she didn’t think that it was physically possible for him to pull out of her now.

He must have noticed the same, as he let himself flop to his side, hauling her along for the ride. Like a rag doll, he easily maneuvered the woman atop him as he finished his roll to his back, never missing a beat. Now with gravity helping him, she felt the tip of his steeple pressing into her cervix and beyond. She screamed out in agony, as it felt like her inside was suddenly ablaze. He didn’t care. He curled his double-thumbed hands around her waist on either side and began to lift and thrust her back down upon his waiting rod. Each lift pulled his spines painfully against her entrance, and each thrust forced his apex through her aching cervix.

With a final, long caw of pleasure, the beast under her bottom shoved himself the deepest he’d managed inside her, and held. She felt him explode within her womb, jetting her insides with a sticky, thick, hotness. She couldn’t explain why, but something else exploded within her, and she felt a wash of ecstasy flood her senses. She found herself rocking her hips against his, the sensation of her orgasm the most intense pleasure the Spartan had ever felt. She rode each wave in her deluge of delight to its fullest, until she felt him melting away inside her. She collapsed gasping for breath, while her captor held her tightly to his chest. His phallus shrank away to nothingness as her dribbling lips throbbed and pulsated at the memory of what they’d just experienced. Too exhausted to notice that his pole had withdrawn into himself, she succumbed to the edging darkness of sleep. She was too tired to even notice his continued embrace, or to be bothered by the oozing, blue seed that spilled down her thigh.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Remember Reach