Chapter 11: Moans
The groan that ripped from Reese’s throat was less a sound of pleasure and more one of profound, visceral strain. The eggs weren’t just heavy; they were expanding, a slow, geological pressure that filled his abdomen to bursting. He clutched his stomach, fingers splaying over the impossibly taut skin. It felt like he’d swallowed smooth, warm river stones that were now multiplying, crowding his insides, shoving organs aside.
“Stop it,” he gasped, his voice thin. “Roman, fucking stop.”
Roman watched, his earlier devastation burned away by this act of reclamation. He was still pale, still trembling with residual sensitivity, but his eyes were chips of obsidian. He kept his hand pressed flat against the distended curve. “Make me.”
Reese tried to shove his arm away, but his strength was fractured by the overwhelming sensation consuming his core. He could feel each individual egg now, their rounded edges distinct against his inner walls. They pressed mercilessly downward. A sharp, urgent need to piss sang through his nerves, a humiliating counterpoint to the agonizing fullness. He squeezed his thighs together, a futile gesture.
“I can’t… I need to…”
“You need to expel them,” Roman finished, his voice a silken threat. His other hand wandered down, fingertips brushing through the damp hair at the base of Reese’s sounded cock. The metal was warm, almost hot to the touch. Reese jerked as if branded.
“I can’t just push them out,” Reese snarled, though it came out as a strained whimper.
“Then you don’t come.” Roman’s fingers closed around the shaft, not stroking, just holding the aching, imprisoned flesh in a firm, possessive grip. “It’s simple. You want release? Empty yourself. Until then…” He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Reese’s ear. “You’re just a pretty vase, full of my stones.”
The helpless, swelling pressure was becoming the entirety of Reese’s world. He breathed in shallow sips, each inhalation a fight against the constriction in his ribs. The eggs shifted again with a movement of his body, a deep, internal grind that made him see white behind his eyelids. The denied erection, trapped by the sound, was a throbbing, second heartbeat of pure frustration.
“Please,” Reese whispered, the word escaping before he could cage it. His hand shot out, fingers digging into the hard muscle of Roman’s forearm. “Please, just let me cum. Just once. I’ll do anything, I’ll… I’ll suck you until you’re raw again, just let me…”
Roman smiled. It was a cruel, beautiful thing. “You’ll do that anyway.” He began to move his hand on Reese’s cock, a slow, torturous up-and-down motion over the metal-clad length. The vibration was minimal, a maddening tease. The pressure from his other hand on Reese’s stomach never relented; he even increased it, leaning his weight into it.
A strangled cry tore from Reese. The dual assault was unhinging him. The deep, stretching fullness below, and the superficial, denied stimulation above. Pre-cum seeped around the sound in a constant, slick dribble. His hips bucked, trying to fuck up into Roman’s fist, trying to alleviate the brutal tension, but the movement only made the eggs settle more heavily, more painfully.
“There it is,” Roman murmured, watching Reese’s face contort. “That’s the edge. You’re balanced right on it, aren’t you? One good stroke away. One little push.” He removed his hand from Reese’s cock entirely.
Reese sobbed in frustration, his head thrashing on the pillow. “You bastard!”
“Push,” Roman commanded, his voice dropping into a guttural register that vibrated in the air. He dug the heel of his hand into the lowest, most swollen part of Reese’s belly, a brutal, internal massage.
An involuntary spasm clenched through Reese’s entire lower body. His abdominal muscles tightened, straining against the massive internal load. For a second, he felt a profound, frightening pressure in his rectum, a feeling of imminent, impossible passage. A guttural groan was forced from his lungs. Nothing happened. The eggs were too large, too smooth, too ensconced.
“I can’t!” Reese screamed, tears of pain and helpless rage spilling over. “They’re too big, you fucker, you know they are!”
Roman shifted suddenly. He swung a leg over Reese’s hips, straddling him, his own still-sensitive cock brushing against the heated skin of Reese’s swollen abdomen. He placed both hands on Reese’s stomach now, his fingers spanning the enormous curve. He looked like some dark god preparing for a sacrifice.
“Then we make room,” Roman said.
He pushed down, not with steady pressure, but with a sharp, compressive force, like a baker kneading stubborn dough.
Reese’s vision blurred. The world narrowed to the exploding sense of compression in his gut. A sharp, burning ache flared deep inside him, a protest from tissues stretched far beyond their limits. He choked, his back arching off the bed, but Roman’s weight pinned his hips down.
“Stop, stop, STOP!”
Roman didn’t stop. He worked his hands over the mound, pushing, prodding, relentlessly manipulating the eggs inside. He ground the heel of his hand in a circular motion just above Reese’s pubic bone. “They have to move down. They have to.”
Reese was babbling, a stream of pleas and curses. The pain was edging into something else, a terrifying, full-body intensity that blurred all lines. His cock, untouched, was leaking furiously, the denied orgasm a living creature trapped in a cage of steel and flesh. The sound felt like the only solid thing in a universe of unbearable pressure.
Sweat dripped from Roman’s chin onto Reese’s heaving chest. This was exertion for him, too. His own body was a landscape of fresh, raw sensitivity. The friction of his cock against Reese’s hot, tight stomach was a sweet, slicing agony. He was hard again, a brutal, painful erection that stood in stark contrast to his pallor.
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of Reese’s head, bringing their faces close. “Kiss me,” he growled. “Beg me with your mouth.”
Reese surged up, capturing Roman’s lips in a desperate, biting kiss. It was all tongue and teeth, a clash of salt and desperation. Reese poured every ounce of his fraying will into it, a silent, violent plea. His hands came up to claw at Roman’s back, not to hurt, but to anchor himself to this one point of contact in the swirling misery.
Roman kissed him back just as fiercely, swallowing Reese’s muffled cries. He ground his hips down, his painful cock dragging through the mess on Reese’s stomach, the sensitive head catching on the ridge of a hip bone. He broke the kiss, breathing raggily.
“Please, Roman,” Reese whispered against his lips, his eyes wide and shattered. “Please, just let me cum. I’ll push, I’ll try again, I’ll do anything you want after, just let me fucking come.”
Roman’s gaze burned into his. The sadistic gleam was there, but beneath it swam something hotter, more possessive. He shifted his weight, reaching between their bodies. His hand found Reese’s cock. He didn’t stroke it. He just gripped it at the base, a tight, unforforming band.
“Now,” Roman said, his voice a dark promise. “Push now. And if I feel even one of those eggs start to give, I’ll let you ruin yourself all over my hand.”
It was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. The eggs weren’t going anywhere. But the offer, the phantom chance, was the final crack in Reese’s resolve.
He threw his head back, a corded tendon standing out in his neck. He bore down with every shred of strength left in his ravaged body. His muscles locked, trembling with the strain. He pushed against the impossible internal blockage, his face flushing with the effort. A raw, animal sound was torn from his throat.
Roman watched, mesmerized, as Reese fought his own body. He felt the incredible tension in the abdomen beneath him, saw the desperate clench. He kept his grip tight on Reese’s cock, a vigilant jailer.
Nothing happened. No release, no shift. Only the swelling, stretching agony and the cresting, frantic need for orgasm that had nowhere to go.
Reese collapsed back onto the bed, spent, sobbing openly. The sobs shook his body, making the eggs shift in their prison, which only made him cry harder. He was broken open, utterly defeated.
Roman slowly released his grip on Reese’s cock. He looked down at the devastation he’d wrought: the painfully swollen stomach, the weeping, sounded erection, the tear-streaked face. A strange, quiet calm settled over him. The fury was spent.
He lowered himself, not onto Reese, but beside him. He pulled Reese into his arms, ignoring the damp sweat and the awkward, distended belly pressed between them. He manhandled Reese until the incubus’s back was against his chest, his own body a cage of flesh around the trembling form.
One arm banded across Reese’s chest, holding him close. The other hand snaked down, past the monstrous curve of his stomach, and finally, finally wrapped around Reese’s aching, tormented cock.
Reese stiffened, a fresh sob catching in his throat. “No more… no more teasing, please, I can’t take it…”
“Shhh,” Roman breathed into his hair. His grip was firm, but his stroke was different this time. It was not a tease. It was relentless, efficient, and exactly what Reese’s body was screaming for. A steady, piston-like rhythm up and down the metal-clad shaft, his thumb swiping over the slick, trapped head with every pass.
Roman nuzzled the sweat-damp hair at Reese’s temple. His voice, when it came, was so quiet it was almost inaudible.
“Mine,” he whispered again, but this time it sounded less like a victory and more like a confession, a frail and terrifying truth hanging in the dark, scented air.
The word hung there, fragile. Then Roman’s hand moved.
The rhythm wasn’t tender. It was mechanical, brutal, a perfect up-and-down glide over the slick metal encasing Reese’s cock. Reese shuddered, a broken whimper escaping his lips. His body was a war zone. The deep, stretching agony in his gut pulsed in time with the frantic, superficial friction. He was split apart, two different kinds of torment merging into one white-hot wire of sensation.
“Stop,” Reese choked out, but his hips stuttered upward, fucking the tight tunnel of Roman’s fist. “No, don’t, I can’t—”
“You can.” Roman’s voice was a low rasp against his ear. His other arm tightened across Reese’s chest, a bar of iron. “You will. Now push.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a trigger. Roman punctuated the command by driving the heel of his palm down into the lowest, most swollen part of Reese’s abdomen. A sharp, compressive force. An order to the overwhelmed body.
Something inside Reese tore. Not physically, but mentally. The last frayed strand of resistance snapped. A guttural, involuntary groan was ripped from his lungs as his body obeyed. He bore down, muscles he didn’t know he had locking in a desperate, full-body clench. The strain was immense, a burning pressure that seared through his core.
Nothing happened for one second. Two. Then, a deep, internal shift. A rolling, grinding movement low in his pelvis. The smooth, unyielding edge of an egg pressed against a place no solid object should ever be. The pain was instant and blinding, a white-hot spike that made Reese scream, his back bowing off the bed.
Roman never stopped stroking. His grip tightened. “Again.”
Tears streamed down Reese’s temples into his hairline. He was sobbing openly now, great heaving gasps between screams. He pushed again, the strain vibrating through every taut muscle. The egg moved another fraction, an impossible, stretching passage that bordered on violence. The sound that came out of him wasn’t human. It was pure, ragged animal distress.
“It hurts, it fucking hurts, stop, please—”
“Again.” Roman’s voice was cold fire. He pressed down once more, his hand a relentless piston on Reese’s stomach, forcing the internal mass downward.
Reese pushed. A third time. Something gave.
The pain didn’t vanish. It transformed. The searing, stretching burn blurred, diffused, and then sparked into something else entirely. A shocking, full-body jolt of sensation that raced up his spine and detonated behind his eyes. The egg’s passage was no longer just an invasion; it was a radical, shocking stimulation of nerves never meant to be touched this way. A groan tore from him, this one layered, broken with a sudden, unexpected thrum of raw pleasure beneath the agony.
Roman felt it. The subtle give. The change in Reese’s cry. “There,” he hissed, triumphant. He increased the pressure, a ruthless internal massage. “Now give it to me. Give me my stone back.”
Reese was beyond words. He was a vessel of sensation, breaking apart. He bore down again, a sob catching in his throat as the egg moved more freely now, the initial impossible stretch replaced by a smoother, devastating slide. The pleasure-pain crest built, a tidal wave from deep inside him, amplified by the brutal, unrelenting friction on his cock.
He came.
It wasn’t an orgasm of release. It was a seizure. His body locked, every muscle seizing in a rigid arc. A raw, silent scream stretched his mouth open as his cock, still trapped by the sound, erupted in a series of brutal, dry pulses. Nothing came out but pure, agonizing sensation, a neural lightning strike with no physical spill. It wrecked him, a brutal internal detonation that left him gasping, shattered.
And Roman didn’t stop. His hand on Reese’s stomach worked harder, pushing, guiding. “Again. Push again.”
The first egg slipped free.
Reese felt it go. A sudden, shocking emptiness followed by a rush of relief so profound it was a new kind of pain. A deep, shuddery moan tumbled from his lips. He was hollowed out, trembling, his spent cock still achingly hard within its metal prison.
Roman discarded the first smooth, glistening stone onto the sheets without a glance. His focus was absolute. His hand moved back to Reese’s abdomen, feeling the remaining masses shift now, more easily. “The rest. Now.”
It was easier. The path was opened. Reese, mindless and pliant, pushed with each guided compression. Each smooth egg slid from him, a slick, solid passage that made him jerk and moan—pain and shocking, intimate pleasure blending until he couldn’t tell them apart. Each expulsion was a minor, shuddering climax that left him weaker, more open, more utterly emptied.
When the last one was out, Reese collapsed. He was a drained shell, his stomach flat and quivering, feeling strangely cold and cavernous. The deep ache remained, a phantom fullness. But the brutal pressure was gone. He floated in a numb haze of relief, his cock the only point of acute, screaming awareness.
Roman shifted behind him. He released Reese’s spent cock, his hand coming up to tilt Reese’s chin back. Their eyes met in the dimness. Reese’s were glazed, wrecked.
A slow, seductive smile touched Reese’s swollen lips. He tilted his head, nuzzling into Roman’s jaw. His voice was a wrecked, husky thread of sound. “Please. Let me cum for real. Just once. I’m so empty. I need it. Please, Roman.”
Roman studied him for a long, silent moment. Then he moved.
He rolled Reese onto his stomach with unsettling efficiency. He produced slender, cruel-looking restraints from the shadows—cuffs of braided midnight leather that seemed to drink the light. He fastened Reese’s wrists to the carved obsidian headboard, then his ankles to the footboard, spreading him taut. Reese offered no resistance, just a shiver of anticipation that snaked through his exhaustion.
Roman’s hands, cool and clinical, parted his cheeks. He leaned close, his breath ghosting over the sensitized, stretched ring of muscle. “You want it?” His voice was a low hum.
“Yes.” Reese’s reply was muffled in the pillow.
“Then take this.”
Roman’s fingers found the base of the metal sound. He gripped it, and with a slow, excruciating care, he began to pull.
The withdrawal was a universe of sensation. The thick, solid length dragged backwards through the tight, sensitized channel of Reese’s urethra, an intimate violation in reverse. Every inch was a bright, singing agony of friction. Reese trembled, a high, thin moan escaping him as he felt it move, a deep, internal slide that seemed to go on forever. He was hyper-aware of the rigid invasion leaving his body, the brutal fullness receding.
When the final bulbous tip popped free, Reese cried out—a sharp, guttural sound of shocking emptiness. He felt gaping open, raw. He panted into the pillow, his whole body shuddering with the aftermath.
He didn’t hear Roman move. He only felt the demon’s hand wrap around his now-bare, dripping, painfully hard cock. No preamble. No teasing. Just a tight, unforgiving fist.
The first stroke was fire.
The second was detonation.
Reese came instantly. A raw, shattered shout tore from him as his orgasm ripped through him with the force of a dam breaking. Thick, violent ropes of cum splattered against the sheets beneath him, his body seizing against the restraints. It was a catharsis so intense it bordered on violence, every second of denial, every berry’s curse, exploding out of him in a brutal, blissful release.
Roman didn’t stop.
He kept stroking, his grip relentless, milking Reese through the convulsing waves of his climax. The overstimulation was instantaneous, a searing, white-hot agony layered over the bliss. Reese screamed, his vision whiting out.
“Stop! Ah, god, please, stop!”
The stroking continued, rough, efficient. The sensitivity was beyond imagining. His spent cock, still semi-hard, was dragged back into a furious, impossible rhythm.
A second orgasm was torn from him. Weaker, a pale, shuddering echo of the first. Less cum, more a dry, painful clenching that wrenched a sob from his chest. The pleasure was gone, burned away. Only raw, neurological overload remained.
Roman didn’t stop.
“No, no, no, I can’t, it hurts, it hurts!” Reese babbled, tears soaking the pillow. He pulled against the restraints, a frantic, weak struggle.
A third climax. A pitiful, convulsive jerk with nothing left to give. A silent, open-mouthed scream. Reese shook violently, his muscles jumping with erratic spasms. He was a live wire, every nerve fried.
The stroking didn’t falter. Roman’s breath was even, measured. A fourth wrecking pulse. A fifth. Each one was a dry heave of his entire nervous system, a brutal punch with no reward. By the seventh, Reese was beyond begging. He made small, wounded animal sounds, his body a twitching, sweat-slick mess against the dark sheets.
The eighth was a full-body flinch. The ninth, a faint tremor. When the tenth rolled through him—a faint, ghostly echo of an orgasm that was pure pain—Reese just went still, utterly spent, hollowed out in every conceivable way.
Finally, Roman stopped.
The silence was absolute, broken only by Reese’s ragged, hitched breathing. Roman released his cock, the touch leaving a phantom brand of agony. He leaned over, his shadow falling across Reese’s ravaged back. He placed a single, surprisingly soft kiss on the nape of Reese’s neck, where sweat-damp hair curled.
Then he unfastened the restraints. The leather cuffs fell away.
Reese didn’t move. He felt Roman lie down beside him, the heat of his body a solid line against Reese’s side. A hand, not cruel, just heavy, settled on the small of his back.
Slowly, Reese turned his head. His face was a mess of tears and sweat. His violet eyes were uncomprehending, shattered glass.
Roman looked back, his own dark gaze unreadable. He leaned in, closing the scant distance, and kissed him. It was a closed-mouth press, simple, almost chaste. A punctuation mark in the void.
Reese, painfully overwhelmed, overstimulated beyond words or thought or feeling, kissed him back. It was just a soft, trembling pressure in return. An acknowledgement. A surrender. The only thing left in the hollowed-out world.