Chapter 19: Chapter 19
The cold water from the window cleaner had dried to a tacky film on his skin. Reese’s arms ached from the exertion, a dull throb that was nothing compared to the deep, alien pressure in his core. He stood with his forehead resting against the cool glass, trying to even his breathing, to convince his body it could bear the impossible weight. The world outside the Nest’s high window was a blur of ash-gray clouds and distant, twisting spires.
A hand closed on the nape of his neck.
“Enough,” Roman’s voice was a low vibration against his back. “You look pathetic. We have business.”
Reese flinched at the touch, but didn’t resist as Roman steered him away from the window. His movements were a slow, careful shuffle, his posture forced into a slight backward lean to counterbalance the swell of his stomach. Roman didn’t accommodate him. He marched him across the chamber, his grip firm, his pace brisk enough that Reese had to half-stumble to keep up, each jostling step sending waves of nauseating displacement through his middle.
He was given no time to change, no robe to cover his state. He was led out of the Nest still in the thin linen pants, which now strained dangerously across the tight curve of his belly. The fabric was taut, thin, doing little to conceal the profound, rounded distension. The walk through the winding, torch-lit corridors of Roman’s demesne was a gauntlet of silent, fleeting glances from lesser imps and shades. Their eyes lingered not on his face, but on the obvious burden he carried.
The Obsidian Lounge lived up to its name. It was a cavern of polished black stone and deep crimson velvet. Flickering candles in iron sconces threw frantic shadows up walls carved with infernal geometries. The air was thick with the scent of cloying incense, spilled absinthe, and a deeper, muskier smell of old power. A low, rhythmic pulse emanated from hidden sources, a subliminal beat that resonated in Reese’s teeth and made the eggs inside him feel heavier.
Three figures awaited them.
One was a woman of impossible, serpentine grace, her skin the color of oiled ebony, six slender arms folded in meditation. Another was a mass of shifting shadow and gleaming amber eyes, a formless thing contained within a ornate, too-large suit. The third was a mountain of scarred, crimson flesh, with curling ram’s horns and hands that could crush skulls.
Ancient demons. Powers. Their attention settled on Reese like a physical weight, colder and far more terrifying than Roman’s possessive heat.
“Roman,” the serpent-woman hissed, her voice like dry scales on stone. “You are late. And you bring your… pet.” Her multi-lensed eyes scanned Reese’s body, lingering on his swollen stomach. “I see it is functional.”
“It is mine,” Roman said, his tone flat, a wall of absolute finality. He guided Reese towards a large, low table of polished obsidian around which the demons sat. Instead of taking one of the vacant, high-backed chairs, Roman went to a heavier, throne-like seat at the head of the table. He sat, the dark material sighing under his weight.
Then, his hand still on Reese’s neck, he pulled.
It wasn’t a gentle guidance. It was a sharp, commanding yank downwards. Reese’s knees buckled, his gasp cut short as he was shoved unceremoniously into the narrow space between Roman’s thighs and the edge of the table. He landed awkwardly, his distended belly pressing against the cool stone table edge, forcing his back to arch. Before he could process the exposure, the humiliation, Roman’s hands were on his hips, hauling him backwards.
His linen pants were ripped down his thighs with a single, brutal tug.
The cold air of the lounge kissed his exposed skin. Then he was being maneuvered, lifted, positioned. Roman’s own trousers were already open. Reese felt the hot, firm pressure of Roman’s half-hard cock against his bare backside. A cold dread, colder than the obsidian, speared through him. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them.
“Master—” he whispered, a plea choked with horror.
“Be still,” Roman murmured, the words for his ears alone, yet carrying in the quiet room. “You are a cushion. Nothing more.”
With that, Roman pulled Reese’s body down onto his lap, impaling him in one smooth, ruthless motion.
Reese’s jaw clenched tight, a strangled sound trapped in his throat. He was sore, stretched, still so raw from the Nest. The intrusion was a brutal reminder, a violation magnified a thousandfold by the watching, ancient eyes. He could feel every demon’s gaze upon him, on the obscene joining of their bodies hidden only by the table and the drape of his own shirt. He tried to make himself small, to disappear, but his swollen belly pressed against the table, pinning him in place.
Roman settled him fully, his cock buried to the hilt inside Reese’s tight, protesting channel. He adjusted Reese’s weight, then casually placed his hands on the table, as if Reese were nothing but an oddly-shaped chair.
“The eastern glyphs are failing,” the shadow-demon said, its voice a rasp of gravel and static. “The mortal traffic has increased. Their prayers are… dissonant.”
Roman began to discuss ley lines and sanctified ground. His voice was calm, authoritative. Meanwhile, beneath the table, he began to move.
It was barely perceptible at first. A subtle, almost lazy rock of his hips. An incrementally deeper push. Reese clenched his eyes shut, focusing on the grain of the obsidian under his fingertips where they gripped the table edge for balance. The slow, sliding friction was agony and ecstasy fused into one unendurable wire. His incubus biology, that cursed betrayer, sparked instantly. A treacherous warmth began to pool low in his gut, a counterpoint to the heavy, egg-laden fullness.
“The dissonance can be harvested,” the serpent-woman argued. “Filtered through the right conduits.”
Roman’s hand came down from the table to rest possessively on Reese’s hip, his thumb stroking over the prominent hip bone. To the others, it might have looked like an idle gesture. But the thumb pressed inward, a command. At the same time, Roman’s hips rolled up, a slow, deliberate grind that nudged something deep and electric inside Reese.
Reese bit his lip until he tasted copper. A small, helpless shudder wracked his frame. He felt himself softening around Roman, accepting him, his body liquefying in pathetic betrayal.
“The conduits are unstable,” the mountain-demon rumbled, its voice like grinding stone. “Your sector’s stability, Roman, is predicated on control. Not… indulgence.” Its amber eyes flicked to the top of Reese’s bowed head.
Roman’s answering smile was cold. “My control is absolute.” To emphasize his point, he snapped his hips up, a sharp, punishing thrust that jolted Reese forward against the table.
A whimper escaped Reese’s clamped teeth. The sharp movement made the eggs inside him shift, a rolling, heavy sensation that squeezed a burst of pre-come from his own trapped, neglected cock. Pleasure, white-hot and shameful, lanced through him. He was growing hard again, pressed against the underside of the table.
“See?” Roman continued smoothly, as if he hadn’t just brutally fucked up into his partner in the middle of a diplomatic meeting. “The mortal issue is one of focus. Their prayers are static. We need to introduce a… resonant frequency.”
As he spoke, he began a new, insidious rhythm. Not thrusts, but a slow, continuous pulse of his pelvic muscles, a milking, internal caress directed at Reese’s most sensitive nerves. It was torture of the most exquisite kind. Reese’s breath hitched. His knuckles were white on the table. He could feel his orgasm building, a tide of unwanted sensation rising from his overspent core.
“A frequency like the old wars?” the shadow-demon asked, its form flickering.
Roman’s hand tightened on Reese’s hip, his rhythmic pulsing never ceasing. “Exactly.”
Reese came.
It was silent, devastating. A clenching, inner convulsion that ripped through him with violent intensity. His back arched impossibly, his stomach muscles tightening around the foreign weight inside him. His channel spasmed around Roman’s cock, milking it instinctively. Pleasure blinded him, a sheet of white noise drowning out the demons’ words.
As the peaks of his climax began to recede, a new, deeper sensation bloomed in its wake. Inside him, the clutch of eggs reacted. A collective, warm pulse. Then, a slow, relentless expansion. They were growing, feeding on the released energy, on the violent contraction of his orgasm. His already-swollen stomach tightened further, the skin stretching, the curve becoming more pronounced. He felt fuller, heavier, pregnant in a way that was grotesquely accelerated.
Roman didn’t pause. He gave a low, satisfied hum that vibrated through Reese’s body, and continued the discussion about resonant frequencies. His cock, still buried deep, remained hard.
The meeting dragged. Topics shifted to territorial disputes, pacts with lesser hells, the degradation of ancient seals. Reese lost track of the words. His universe narrowed to the joining of their bodies, to the impossible weight in his belly, to the constant, low-grade stimulation Roman maintained. Every minute shift, every casual flex, was calculated to tease Reese’s frayed nerves.
Another orgasm built, slower this time, a coiling pressure amplified by the increased mass inside him. He tried to fight it, to focus on the carved sigils on the table, on the flicker of the candles. It was useless.
Roman timed it perfectly. As the mountain-demon finished a point about soul quotas, Roman pressed deep and held, exerting a steady, unbearable pressure on Reese’s prostate.
Reese came again with a choked gasp he couldn’t fully suppress. This one was a deep, shuddering release that left him trembling, weak. The eggs swelled again in response, another wave of growth. His stomach pushed harder against the table. The linen pants, already strained, felt ready to split. He was visibly larger, the roundness now obscene, a taut dome that dominated his slender frame.
“Your point is noted, Azgorath,” Roman said, his voice betraying nothing but cool intellect. His hand stroked Reese’s sweating back. “I will reinforce the western wards.”
The third orgasm was a mere stumbling block. The fourth was a seismic event. It ripped through Reese with no warning, a raw, screaming tension that shattered into pieces. He saw stars, his vision tunneling. He might have cried out. He didn’t know. His body was no longer his own. It was a vessel, a react
His body was no longer his own. It was a vessel, a reactor burning on stolen fuel. The fourth climax left him boneless, sagging against Roman’s chest, held up only by the demon’s firm grip and the relentless intrusion still buried inside him. The obsidian table was slick under his trembling forearms. The discussion swirled around him, words like “soul-tax” and “dimensional fray” sounding hollow and distant, meaningless noise beneath the roaring truth in his gut.
“The terms are acceptable,” the serpent-woman concluded, her six arms unfolding in a fluid, dismissive gesture. “We shall reconvene after the blood-moon alignment.”
The shadow-demon simply dissipated, swirling into the corner draperies like smoke. The mountain of flesh pushed back from the table with a grating sound, giving Roman a curt, almost respectful nod that made its horns dip. “Your focus,” it rumbled, its amber eyes flicking once more to Reese’s shuddering form, “is… formidable.”
Then they were gone. The heavy door of the Obsidian Lounge sealed shut with a final, resonant thud. The only sounds were the guttering of candles and Reese’s ragged, wet-sounding breaths.
Silence pooled in the chamber, thick and expectant.
Roman’s hands, which had rested neutrally on the table, moved. One slid around to splay over Reese’s painfully distended stomach, feeling the tight, round curve of it. The other gripped his hip, fingers digging into the bruising flesh.
“Hear that, pet?” Roman murmured into his ear, his voice a low, intimate gravel. “They admired my focus. They had no idea my beautiful little incubus was coming apart on my cock the entire time.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He shifted his hips, a shallow, testing thrust that made Reese cry out. The movement sloshed the heavy eggs inside him, a deep, internal displacement.
“You feel like you’re about to burst,” Roman observed clinically, his hand rubbing circles over the taut skin. “So full of me. I think it’s time we returned what’s mine.”
With that, he stood, lifting Reese with him as if he weighed nothing. Reese’s legs dangled, useless. The sudden vertical shift made the weight in his belly drop, a sickening lurch that stole his breath. Roman carried him from the lounge, not to the bedroom, but to a different part of his chambers—a room with a large, empty, sunken basin of polished black stone.
He placed Reese on his hands and knees at the basin’s edge. The cold stone bit into his palms and shins. His swollen stomach hung heavily between his arms, an undeniable, obscene pendulum.
“Stay,” Roman commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. He stepped away. Reese heard the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt. He stared down into the empty basin, seeing his own hollow-eyed reflection stare back from the dark stone. He was grotesque, bloated, ruined.
Roman returned. He didn’t re-enter him gently. He spat into his palm, slicked his already-wet cock, and positioned himself behind Reese. The broad head pressed against Reese’s stretched, tender entrance.
“Push them out,” Roman said, his voice calm, cold. “Or I’ll rip them out of you.”
He drove forward.
This wasn’t the controlled, grinding possession of the meeting. This was raw, violent reclamation. Roman sheathed himself to the root in one brutal, splitting stroke. Reese screamed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. His body tried to clamp down, to reject the renewed invasion, but it was too used, too broken.
Roman set a punishing pace immediately. Each withdrawal was nearly complete, each thrust a full, deep piston that shook Reese’s entire frame. The slap of skin on skin, the wet, squelching sound of his overused hole, filled the room. Roman’s hands gripped the sides of Reese’s swollen stomach, using the leverage to yank him back onto each thrust.
“You took them so fucking deep,” Roman grunted, his rhythm unforgiving. “My clutch is buried in your guts. Feel them? They’re right there.”
Reese could feel everything. The brutal stretch of his entrance. The scrape of Roman’s cock along his oversensitive inner walls. The deep, grinding pressure of the eggs being jostled, compacted, shoved toward his core with every savage impact. Pleasure was a jagged shard tangled in the pain, impossible to separate.
“Now,” Roman snarled, his pace becoming erratic, desperate. He fucked into Reese with short, jagged thrusts, aiming deep. “Push them into my cock, you greedy slut. I want to feel you shit my eggs back into me.”
The command unlocked something primal. Reese bore down, his abdominal muscles clenching around the solid, foreign spheres inside him. He felt one shift, descending, moving toward the violent junction of their bodies. The pressure was immense, a burning, stretching passage.
“Fuck yes,” Roman hissed, feeling the change. He hammered into Reese, his own release coiling tight. “Give it to me. Now!”
With a final, gut-wrenching contraction from Reese and a final, deep impalement from Roman, the first egg was forced from Reese’s convulsing channel into Roman’s. It was a smooth, solid transfer, a distinct, full sensation traveling the other way. Roman groaned, a sound of profound relief and dark pleasure.
Reese choked, tears streaming down his face. The relief of its exit was instantaneous, a slight lessening of the crushing internal pressure. But Roman didn’t stop.
He kept fucking him, hard and fast, chasing the next one. “Again,” he demanded, his voice ragged.
Another egg, then another. Each one was a monumental effort, a visceral, internal surrender. Reese sobbed, pushing each dense sphere out into the grasping, possessive heat of Roman’s cock. Roman grunted with each receipt, his thrusts losing rhythm, becoming wilder as his own orgasm built, fueled by the returning of his property.
The last egg moved. Reese felt it lodge, too large, catching. He whimpered, pushing weakly.
“Do it,” Roman ordered, his hands gripping Reese’s hips hard enough to bruise bone. He pulled Reese back onto him with brutal force, sheathing himself completely.
The egg popped free.
It triggered Roman’s climax. He buried himself to the hilt and roared, his body locking as he pulsed deep inside Reese’s emptied core. Reese felt the hot flood, the final, violent claim. His own body convulsed around the intrusion, a dry, wrenching spasm that left him gasping.
Silence fell, broken only by their harsh breathing.
Roman slowly pulled out. A rush of fluids followed, dripping into the dark basin below. Reese collapsed forward onto the cold stone, his limbs jelly. His stomach was deflated, sore, but achingly empty. The deep, possessive fullness was gone.
Roman stood over him for a moment, adjusting his clothes. He looked down at Reese’s crumpled form, a dark smudge against the stone. He crouched, his hand not tender, but assessing, running over Reese’s flank, his hip, the curve of his now-flat stomach.
“Good,” he said, the single word carrying a weight of finality. He stood. “Clean yourself up. You reek of me.”
He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading down the hall. Reese lay trembling, the cold stone leaching the last warmth from his body. The basin beneath him held the physical evidence of his use, a dark, shimmering pool. He was hollowed out. Cleansed. Owned.
And the emptiness inside him felt far more terrifying than the fullness ever had.
The cold of the stone basin had seeped into his marrow. Time was a limp, shapeless thing. He only moved when the tremors in his legs forced him to, sliding from the basin's edge onto the slick, unforgiving floor. He found he could stand. The profound, anchoring weight was gone, leaving him feeling untethered, ghostly. His body was a map of aches and sticky, cooling evidence. He walked, a slow and unsteady pilgrimage, towards the washroom he’d used earlier.
The shower was a stark, tiled space. He turned the water to a near-scalding heat and stood under the stream, letting it sluice the filth from his skin. It couldn’t touch the deeper stains. His mind was a silent, hollow chamber. The echoes of the Obsidian Lounge—the clinical discussions, the piercing stares, the covert, devastating pulses of pleasure—replayed on a loop. He scrubbed his skin raw with a coarse cloth, focusing on the physical sting to silence the memory of his own broken whimpers. He washed his hair, the silver strands clinging to his neck like weeds. He cleaned between his legs, wincing at the sore, stretched feeling, the flesh tender and used.
Dried and wrapped in a simple black robe, he felt no cleaner. The emptiness was an active, gnawing void. It wasn't peace. It was a vacancy screaming to be filled. It was worse than the painful stretch of the eggs, because it held no purpose. He was just an empty vessel.
He found Roman in the Nest’s main chamber. The demon was at a low, darkwood desk, studying a scroll that glowed with faint, infernal script. The obsidian wall behind him seemed to swallow the light, its whispered secrets a constant hum. He looked like a king holding court in a tomb. Powerful.Complete. Untouched.
Reese stopped in the archway, the robe feeling flimsy as a cobweb. His heart thudded a painful rhythm against his ribs. The silence stretched. Roman did not look up."Roman."
The word was a dry crack in the quiet. Roman’s quill paused, but he didn’t turn.
Reese walked forward, his bare feet silent on the rug. He came around the side of the desk. He could see the strong line of Roman's jaw, the faint, tired crease at the corner of his eye. The demon’s focus remained on the scroll, an act of dismissal so absolute it was a violence in itself. The emptiness inside Reese twisted, becoming a desperate, clawing need.
He sank to his knees beside the heavy chair. His hand, trembling, came to rest on Roman's thigh. The muscle beneath the fine fabric was solid, unyielding."Please."
Roman’s gaze flicked down to him, then back to the scroll. "Please what?"
"Fuck me." The words were raw, stripped of pride, of wit, of anything but need. "Just… fuck me.Now. I need it. I'm so empty."
A slow, predatory smile touched Roman's lips. He finally set the quill down. "Are you now? After all that? Your little incubus soul is hungry again so soon?" He leaned back in the chair, assessing Reese with clinical dispassion. "You're pathetic."
"I know," Reese breathed, leaning forward, pressing his forehead against Roman's leg. The contact was a spark. He turned his face, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the dense muscle through the fabric. He was hanging off Roman, a desperate, clinging thing. "I don't care. Just fill me. Use me. I can't stand it."
Roman watched him for a long moment, the smirk never leaving his face. Then his hand came down, not to caress, but to fist in Reese's damp hair. He pulled his head back, forcing their eyes to meet.
"Begging does suit you," Roman mused. He released Reese's hair and pushed his chair back from the desk. "On the bed. On your back. Legs open."
Reese scrambled to comply, the robe falling open as he climbed onto the deep velvet. He lay back, the fabric cool against his spine. He spread his legs, his hole still feeling loose, tender, shamefully exposed.
Roman didn't undress. He merely opened his trousers, freeing his cock. It was thick, semi-hard, a weapon of familiar dominance. But he didn't approach the bed. Instead, he went to a sleek, black cabinet set into the wall. He opened it, and the interior light glinted off polished metal and dark silicone.
He returned with a fistful of objects. They were vibrators, but not simple ones. They were a series of graduated, bulbous plugs, each larger than the last, crafted from gleaming obsidian-infused silicone. The largest was intimidating, its circumference daunting. At their bases were discreet, sealed controls.
"Since you're so desperately empty," Roman said, his voice conversational. "Let's measure that emptiness."
He coated the first, smallest plug with a clear lubricant from a vial. He didn't gentle Reese. He pressed the cool, slick tip against Reese's waiting entrance and pushed. It slid in with relative ease, a minor stretch that made Reese gasp. It was nothing compared to the eggs, but its presence was a sharp, foreign intrusion.
"Already sighing?" Roman chuckled darkly. He took the next plug, noticeably thicker. Without removing the first, he pressed the second tip alongside it. The stretch was immediate, intense. Reese's breath hitched as his body was forced to accommodate two solid objects. The burn was a clean, sharp pain that bled quickly into a deep, filling pressure.
"Fuck," Reese moaned, his head pushing back into the velvet.
"The mouth on you," Roman tutted. He lubed the third plug. This one required pressure. Roman leaned his weight into it, working the thick, bulbous head past Reese's tight, protesting rim. Reese cried out, his back arching off the bed. The fullness was immense, a brutal stretch that pushed against his limits. He was stuffed, his hole straining obscenely around the triple intrusion.
Roman paused, admiring his work. Reese was panting, his cock hard and leaking onto his stomach. The stretch alone, the sheer, uncompromising fullness, was driving him mad with a pleasure that bordered on pain.
"Beautiful," Roman murmured, tracing a fingertip around Reese's stretched rim where the three bases sat flush against his skin. "Look at you. A hole just begging to be split open." He picked up the fourth and largest vibrator. "Let's see if you can take your master's full measure."
The fourth plug was monstrous. Roman lubricated it generously, the slick sound loud in the quiet room. He positioned the blunt, intimidating tip against the cluster of the other three. There was no gentle easing. Roman applied steady, inexorable force.
Reese screamed. It was a tearing, burning, impossible expansion. His body fought violently, clenching against the invasion, but Roman was relentless. He pushed, twisting slightly, until with a final, devastating pop, the largest head forced its way inside. Reese sobbed, his vision whiting out. He was fuller than he'd ever been, even with the eggs. It was a stretching, solid blockage that consumed his entire awareness. He could feel every individual shape inside him, a geology of pleasure-pain.
Roman slid it home until its wide base sealed him shut. Reese lay ruined, breathless, tears tracking his temples. He was moaning, a continuous, low sound of overwhelmed sensation, from the stretch alone. He was immutably, utterly filled.
Roman stood over him, his own cock now fully erect. He held the small, black remote control in his hand, his thumb hovering over the power button.
A sliver of lucidity pierced Reese's haze. This was for him. His need.His emptiness. Roman was giving, in his own brutal way. The dynamic felt unbalanced, tilted terrifyingly in Reese's favor. He needed to tip it back. He needed to serve.
"Wait," Reese choked out, the word strained."Please. Before you... let me. Let me do something for you."
Roman's eyebrow arched. The smirk returned, intrigued. "Is that so? You have something in mind for this?" He gestured to his erection.
"Yes," Reese whispered. He gestured weakly to the cabinet. "The... the sounds. And the bag. Let me."
A slow, dark delight kindled in Roman's eyes. He loved this—the initiative, the offering, especially from a place of such abject vulnerability. "Show me," he said, his voice a low command.
With agonizing care, Reese pushed himself up on his elbows. The movement made the massive plugs shift inside him, a dizzying internal displacement. He swung his legs off the bed, standing on shaky limbs. The feeling of being so profoundly stuffed, yet moving, was surreal. He walked, with a wide, careful stance, to the cabinet. His fingers closed around a long, thin, surgical steel rod—a urethral sound. He selected another item: a large, rubber enema bag with a thick, flared nozzle. From a side table, he took a decanter of deep, blood-red wine.
He returned to stand before Roman, who had sat back in his chair, watching with avid curiosity. Reese sank back to his knees, the plugs making the position deeply uncomfortable, a constant, stretching reminder.
He held up the sound. "For you," he said, his voice trembling.
Roman spread his legs, granting access."Proceed."
Reese coated the steel rod in lubricant. His hand shook as he brought it to the slit of Roman's cock. He looked up, meeting Roman's gaze—a silent request for the final permission. Roman gave a single, slow nod.
Reese guided the tip. He pressed it gently against the small opening. There was resistance, a tight, muscular closure. He increased the pressure, twisting slightly. With a faint, wet pop, the tip penetrated. Roman inhaled sharply, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. Reese paused, letting him adjust to the first, intimate invasion.
Then he began to push. Slowly, meticulously, he fed the cold, hard steel into Roman's urethra. It was a deeply intrusive, intimate act. He watched the rod disappear inch by inch into Roman's thick shaft, a submission of the demon's most sensitive channel. Roman’s breath came in controlled huffs, his jaw tight. A low, approving growl rumbled in his chest.
"You're good at that," Roman gritted out, his cock twitching around the invading metal.
Reese didn't reply, focusing on the task. He pushed until only an inch of the sound remained visible. He left it there, a gleaming, perverse adornment. Then he reached for the enema bag. He had filled it with the rich, dark wine. He attached the thick, flared nozzle, coating it heavily in lube.
He positioned the nozzle against Roman's tight, clenched entrance. "This will be cold," he whispered."Do it."
Reese pushed. The nozzle was large, and Roman’s body resisted fiercely. Reese used steady, unrelenting force. Roman's knuckles were white on the chair, a vein prominent in his temple. The nozzle breached him, sinking deep. Reese opened the valve.
A gush of wine, dark as a bruise, flooded into Roman. The demon grunted, a deep, visceral sound. His abdomen tensed, beginning to distend as the bag emptied. Reese watched, fascinated, as Roman's lean stomach rounded slightly, filled with the borrowed, decadent fluid. The room filled with the faint, tannic scent of grapes and spice.
The bag emptied. Reese carefully removed the nozzle, leaving Roman filled, the sound still gleaming in his cock. He sat back on his heels, awaiting instruction, his own body throbbing around its obsidian plugs.
Roman looked down at himself, at the sound, feeling the heavy, sloshing pressure within him. He looked at Reese, stuffed and kneeling. The power dynamic had been exquisitely rebalanced, threaded with a new, complex intimacy.
He picked up the remote control. His thumb found the button.
"Now," Roman said, his voice thick with promise and threat. "Let's see how you sound when you're vibrating full of me, while I'm full of your gifts."
He pressed the button.