Chapter 7: Done
The stillness in the bathroom was profound, broken only by Roman’s ragged, wet breaths and the faint drip of water from the showerhead. He was a wreck of sensation, held together only by the circle of Reese’s arms and the relentless, swollen fullness that defined his entire being. Reese’s hand continued its slow, possessive circles on the drum-tight curve of his stomach, the incubus’s magic a low hum in the air, keeping the wine warm and expansive inside him.
Then, something within Roman fractured.
It wasn’t a surrender. It was a tectonic shift. A low, sub-vocal growl began in his chest, vibrating through Reese’s body where they were pressed together. The air around them chilled, then crackled with static. The shadows in the room’s corners deepened, stretching and breathing.
“Reese.” Roman’s voice was wrong. It was layered, a chorus of whispers beneath the familiar baritone, scraping against the mind.
Reese went very still, his hand pausing its massage. He didn’t pull away. A sharp, thrilling spike of danger, sweet as nectar, shot through him. He tilted his head to see Roman’s face.
Roman’s head was bowed, his shoulders shaking. But it wasn’t with helplessness anymore. They were broadening, the muscle and bone expanding under the skin with a series of sickening, potent cracks. His skin darkened, taking on a greyish, volcanic texture. From his temples, curled horns of obsidian-black bone pushed outward, sweeping back along his skull. He grew, his form stretching upward and outward on the bench, forcing Reese to lean back or be pushed aside. He gained a full foot in height, his presence now swallowing the room, a primal density that made the light bleed away.
And between his thighs, his cock, still impaled by the gleaming sound, began to change. It thickened, the veins standing in brutal relief, and it lengthened, the sound sliding partially out from the tip as the flesh extended another half-foot of thick, monstrous demonflesh. It was a brutal, obscene weapon, weeping clear fluid around the metal.
Roman lifted his head. His eyes were pits of absolute black, no white, no iris, just void. Yet they were fixed on Reese with terrifying focus. Tears, black and oily, tracked down his harsh, transformed cheeks.
“Take it out.” The layered voice was a raw plea, a demand, a threat. “Please. Take the fucking thing out of me. Now.”
The ‘please’ did it. That shred of vulnerable need amidst the terrifying transformation. Reese’s incubus nature sang with the complexity of it. He shifted, kneeling between Roman’s spread, powerful thighs. He looked up the vast, fearsome landscape of Roman’s demon form, then down to the steel rod protruding from the massive, dripping cockhead.
“Okay,” Reese said, his own voice steady, a thin thread of sanity in the roiling dark. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
He wrapped his fingers around the base of the sound. The contrast was absurd: his delicate, tattooed hand against the grotesque, transformed flesh. He didn’t yank. He began to pull with excruciating slowness.
Roman roared.
It was a sound of pure, unmediated agony, shaking the mirrors on the walls. The steel, now moving along an even more sensitive, elongated channel, burned like a brand. Reese kept his other hand pressed firmly on Roman’s lower belly, which was still swollen tight with the magically-charged wine. He massaged in counterpoint to the withdrawal, a distracting pressure against the internal stretch.
“That’s it,” Reese murmured, pulling an inch, then two. “Let it go. Let it all out.”
The sound came free with a final, slick pop. A gush of clear fluid followed it, splattering on the tile floor. Roman’s whole body shuddered, a great quake of release from one particular torture. But he was a live wire, every other nerve screaming—the dildo still crammed in his ass, the wine bubbling inside him, the frantic, unmet ache of his colossal cock.
The void-like eyes burned into Reese. “You,” Roman rasped. “Now.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a biological imperative. The demon’s need, sharpened by hours of torment, was a tangible force in the room. Reese saw it, understood it, and a feral grin touched his lips. He stood, peeling his soaked clothes off with quick, efficient movements, his own slender form a pale contrast to the volcanic demon on the bench. He was hard, his own length standing proud, but he knew that wasn’t the target. Not tonight.
He turned his back to Roman, looking over his shoulder. “Then do it. Or can’t you move?”
The taunt was the final key. With a snarl that was more beast than man, Roman’s huge hands shot out and grabbed Reese’s hips. His grip was bruising, absolute. He pulled Reese backwards, easily lifting the incubus’s slight weight, ignoring the dildo still anchored in his own ass as he maneuvered.
Reese gasped as he was positioned, bent over, hands braced on the bench. He felt the blunt, huge head of Roman’s cock press against his entrance. It was impossibly big, wider than the sound, wider than the dildo. It wasn’t going to fit.
Roman didn’t care. He pushed.
The breach was a blinding white split. Reese screamed, a sharp, undone sound, as his body was forced open beyond any reasonable limit. He felt himself tear, a hot, sharp sting, before the demonflesh shoved its way in, an inexorable, brutal invasion. Roman bottomed out in three devastating thrusts, sheathing himself to the hilt inside Reese, his monstrous balls slapping against Reese’s ass.
“Fuck! Roman, fuck, it’s too much!” Reese cried out, his knuckles white on the bench, his body stretched to a breaking point around the throbbing girth.
Roman didn’t pause. He didn’t gentle. One arm locked around Reese’s chest, hauling the incubus’s back flush against his own expanded torso. The other hand slid down, past where they were joined, and found the base of the suction-cup dildo still buried in his own ass. He grabbed it, and with a guttural groan, he ripped it out of himself and flung it aside.
The sudden emptiness in his ass was a void instantly filled by the churning, expanded wine. It sloshed heavily, a liquid collision inside him. But it was freedom of a sort. Now, he could move.
And he did.
He fucked into Reese with a frantic, punishing rhythm, each slam driving his own swollen, wine-packed gut against Reese’s back. The slap of skin was wet, brutal. Reese was sobbing, but his sobs were mixed with ragged moans. His incubus power, rattled and unleashed by the violent penetration, flared out instinctually, a survival mechanism. It didn’t seek to calm or arouse. It amplified.
It latched onto the magical energy already swirling in the wine inside Roman and pulled.
Inside Roman, the warm, expanding liquid seemed to ignite. It bubbled, frothing and swelling with new intensity. His stomach, already a taut curve, distended further, pushing out against Reese’s spine in a firm, unyielding bulge. Roman grunted, the sensation a bizarre, full-to-bursting counterpoint to the driving pleasure of fucking Reese’s devastatingly tight channel.
“What… are you doing?” Roman growled into Reese’s ear, his pace never faltering.
“Filling you up,” Reese choked out, his own power working in tandem with the violation, his body a crucible. “You’re so full… look at you…”
Roman could feel it. The pressure was astronomical, a deep internal stretching that threatened to eclipse everything. It was too much. It was perfect. His thrusts became more erratic, more desperate.
His balls, enormous and tight, drew up. Reese felt the shift, the impending climax, and braced. But it wasn’t just a climax.
Roman came with a roar that shook the foundations of the apartment. But what erupted from his monstrous cock wasn’t just seed. It was a clutch of thick, gelatinous eggs. The first one slammed into Reese’s deepest channel, a solid, oval mass that stretched him even wider than the cock itself. Reese shrieked, his body convulsing.
Another followed. Then another.
Roman pumped them deep, each pulsing deposit a heavy, filling weight. Reese’s own slim stomach began to protrude, rounding out as the eggs were packed into him, one after another, a rapid, obscene inflation. He was being filled, stuffed, bred like a vessel.
And as Roman deposited each egg, the reciprocal pressure, the shared intensity, made Reese’s incubus magic surge wildly. The wine in Roman’s gut swelled in sympathetic rhythm, expanding his middle further, until both of them were linked in a feedback loop of grotesque expansion.
Reese, impaled and pumped full, felt his own stomach push out against the bench, a hard, egg-shaped bulge distending his formerly flat abdomen. Roman, behind him, had a stomach that curved out powerfully, sloshing and hot, pressed against Reese’s back. They were both inflated, filled beyond reason, locked together by Roman’s still-pulsing cock.
The final egg was deposited. Roman slumped forward, his transformed body heaving, his horns resting against Reese’s shoulder blades. They were a mess of overlapped flesh, shared violation, and mutually distended bellies.
Slowly, the volcanic texture faded from Roman’s skin. The horns receded. His form shrank back to its usual imposing, but no longer monstrous, dimensions. His eyes bled back to piercing black, but they were glazed, utterly spent.
Reese felt the cock inside him soften, but it remained, a thick plug holding the clutch of eggs deep within him. His own stomach was uncomfortably, prominently full. He could feel the individual shapes inside him.
They stayed like that, bent over the bench, breathing in shattered unison. The power dynamic hung shattered in the air around them, twisted into a new, unimaginable shape.
Finally, Roman’s arms tightened, not with violence, but with a bone-deep exhaustion. He nuzzled into the sweat-soaked hair at Reese’s nape, his voice a hollow, ruined thing.
“Look what you made me do.”
Reese, feeling the heavy ache in his gut and the profound, claiming stretch between his legs, gave a weak, trembling laugh. “Look what you did to us.”
There was no winner. There was only the aftermath, and the terrifying, intimate knowledge of what they were capable of building—and destroying—together.
There was only the aftermath, and the terrifying, intimate knowledge of what they were capable of building—and destroying—together.
Roman slumped beside him on the wooden bench, their bodies still touching, still uncomfortably full. He rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the puddled mess on the floor—water, wine, slick. His breath was evening out, becoming more than shattered gasps. The silence between them was thick, electric with spent energy and unsaid things.
Reese pressed a careful hand against his own abdomen, feeling the hard, foreign lumps packed inside him. The eggs had softened, becoming a warm, malleable weight. He grimaced. "I need to expel these," he said flatly. "They're starting to… dissolve."
Roman glanced at him. The familiar calculation was returning to his black eyes. He gave a short, stiff nod. With apparent effort, he pushed himself up from the bench, his movements heavy and sore. He walked to the bathroom’s arched doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched Reese rise. Roman’s hand still lay pressed against the gentle swell of his own stomach.
"Bedroom," Roman said, his voice a graveled shadow of its usual command. "Clean up."
They moved separately through the dim hallway, each navigating their own internal disarray. The bedroom awaited, a cavern of dark wood and crimson silk, shadows collecting under the four-poster bed. Roman stopped at a heavy chest of drawers. He retrieved a fresh black linen towel for himself, dropping it across the silk duvet. He threw a smaller one to Reese. It landed on the floor. Roman didn’t retrieve it. He just stood, waiting, his posture telegraphing a shifting focus.
Reese, removing the mess from within himself over a chamber pot in the corner, wiped himself clean with the towel. He straightened, his lean form still seeming to ache. He looked at Roman. The power that had flowed so violently between them minutes before was now a tangled, static hum.
Reese’s eyes, now the blue-grey of stormy winter twilight, took in Roman’s weariness. The ancient demon looked drained, the lines around his eyes deeper. He also looked frustrated, buzzing with an energy he was too exhausted to parse. An idea, sharp and perfectly suited, slotted into place in Reese’s mind.
"You’re all tense again," Reese observed quietly, moving closer. "Even after all that. I can feel it in the air around you. A snarled knot."
"What of it?" Roman grunted, not meeting his eyes.
Reese stopped a foot away, within reach but not touching. "Let me untie it."
His voice was different. Not a challenge, not submission. An offer. He sank slowly to his knees on the plush midnight rug, his movements fluid and deliberate. He didn’t ask. He just moved into Roman’s space. His hands came up to rest on Roman’s hips, thumbs brushing the defined v-lines that led downward. From this angle, he looked up, meeting Roman’s gaze. "Just be still," he murmured, and his voice held a quiet, absolute certainty.
Roman’s jaw tightened. He didn’t speak. A heavy, anticipating silence fell.
Reese leaned forward, his breath ghosting over Roman’s spent, softening cock. He pressed a single, dry kiss to the tip, then let his tongue dart out to taste the remnants of himself, the salt and seed still clinging there. Roman flinched, a twitch that vibrated through his entire tired frame. A low, threadbare noise escaped his throat.
Reese smiled, a faint upturn of his lips. He began.
He took Roman back into his mouth, working with unhurried, deliberate skill. His lips formed a tight, wet seal at the base of Roman’s shaft, working upward in slow, licking drags. He lavished attention on the head, circling the ridge with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks to suck with firm, rhythmic pressure. His hands, both of them, now smoothed up over Roman’s abdomen, not massaging the tender wine-distended curve, but pressing flat against it. He pushed in with gentle, insistent pressure. Every time Roman’s cock twitched on the edge of re-awakening, Reese would push down on his swollen belly, and the deep internal reminder of excess would flare, a counterpoint that kept Roman balanced on a knife’s edge.
"Fuck… Reese…" Roman groaned, his hands finally coming down to tangle in the incubus’s dark hair. He didn’t guide, didn’t push. He just held on, his knuckles white.
"You like this," Reese whispered, pulling off with a wet pop, his eyes shimmering with predatory light. He traced a vein with the tip of his tongue. "You like being full and empty at the same time. My mouth taking, your gut holding. Right on the fucking edge."
He took him deep again, his throat working. Roman’s hips gave an involuntary, tiny stutter. The demon shuddered, torn between the slick heat of Reese’s mouth and the pressure inside his own core, fed by those deliberate hands. The stimulation was exquisite, precisely calibrated denial. The air in the room began to thicken, to charge. That familiar, dangerous static crackled along Roman’s skin.
"More," Roman rasped, his voice starting to fray. "Don’t you dare stop."
But Reese did stop. He pulled off completely, saliva connecting his lips to Roman’s tip in a glistening strand. He sat back on his heels, his own breathing slightly quickened. Roman stood before him, trembling, his cock fully hard again and aching. And then Roman began to change.
The transformation wasn’t as violent as before. It was a slow, agonizing bloom of power he couldn’t contain. His skin darkened to slate. His muscles swelled, cords standing out on his neck. His horns pushed from his forehead, black and wicked. He gained height, looming over the kneeling Reese, his demon form a testament to the need Reese had stoked. Between his legs, his cock thickened and lengthened once more, a brutal, magnificent pillar of flesh.
Reese stared up at him, his storm-grey eyes now alight with a triumphant, dark flame. "There you are," he breathed, a whisper of pure satisfaction.
His delicate hand lifted. Shadows coalesced in his palm, twisting and hardening from the ambient demonic energy in the room. They forged into a new sound. It was thicker than the last, longer, made of something dark that gleamed with an oily sheen. The ridges along it were more pronounced, almost serrated.
Reese didn’t hesitate. He didn’t pause for permission. He simply leaned forward, gripped the base of Roman’s transformed cock in one hand, and with the other, pressed the blunt, obscene tip of the demonic sound against the weeping slit.
"No, fuck, no—" Roman babbled, the layered chorus in his voice trembling with desperate protest.
"Yes," Reese said, and pushed.
The invasion was immediate and breathtaking. The stretch was monumental, far beyond the first sound. The new ridges caught and dragged on the ultra-sensitive inner flesh of Roman’s monumental demon-cock. Reese pushed steadily, inexorably, feeding the thick, dark metal into him inch by torturous inch. Roman’s hands scrabbled against the stone doorframe, claws scoring the rock. A long, broken keen echoed in the chamber as Reese worked the sound deeper, deeper, until the final ridge disappeared inside and the base sat snug and terrifying against the head.
Roman’s entire body was rigid, locked in a spasm of intense violation. His demon form seemed to vibrate with the overwhelming sensation, a live wire plugged into the heart of his being.
Reese rose fluidly. He grasped Roman’s shaking arm. "Stand," he instructed, his voice calm, almost clinical. "Up.On your feet."
Roman obeyed, moving like a puppet with tangled strings. His legs were unsteady. He leaned heavily on Reese, who guided him away from the wall towards the center of the room. On the floor, positioned deliberately before the bed, was another toy. It was a butt plug, but massive. The neck was thick, the base was a bulbous, flared sphere, and the widest point looked capable of splitting stone.
Reese guided Roman until he stood directly over it, the tip aligned with his still-used entrance. "Hold yourself up," Reese whispered, positioning Roman’s hands on the carved poster of the bed frame. Then he took a step back. He released him.
Roman’s arms trembled violently with the effort of keeping his weight suspended. His legs, already jelly from the assault on his cock and the prior strain, shook. The preposterous intrusion stretching his urethra was a maddening distraction. Every nerve was focused there, making the simple act of balance a Herculean task. He gritted his teeth, a growl of pure strain tearing from his throat. Sweat dripped from his horns onto the rug.
Reese stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching with rapt intensity. He didn’t move to help. He just observed the beautiful, brutal struggle—the clenching muscles in Roman’s back, the quiver in his overextended thighs, the way his hole fluttered mere inches above the threatening plug.
"Giving up so soon?" Reese taunted softly.
Roman snarled, his grip tightening on the wood. He tried to shift, to find a stable point, but his strength was finite, eaten away by sensation. The pain in his cock blazed. The exhaustion in his muscles screamed. His knees buckled, just slightly. It was enough. His hips lowered an inch.
The slick, fat tip of the butt plug pressed against his entrance. A shocked, guttural sound escaped him. He tried to rally, to push back up, but his body was a traitor. The resistance sent a fresh wave of agony from the sound buried in his cock, scrambling his coordination.
With a final, defeated gasp, his strength gave out completely.
He fell.
His body weight drove him down onto the plug. The thick, unyielding silicone speared into him in one relentless plunge. His ass stretched wide around the brutal girth, a sudden, shocking fullness that stole the air from his lungs. But worse was the inside. The forceful entry slammed the plug deep, compressing his already-strained colon. It crushed violently against the sloshing, gallon-heavy expanse of the wine enema still held within him.
The impact triggered a seismic shock inside Roman. The wine, with nowhere to go, surged upward and outward in a pressurized wave. His stomach, which had receded to a tender fullness, now distended with shocking speed, rounding out into a hard, tight dome. It pushed against his own thighs, a grotesque, rapid inflation.
"AAAAGHHHH!" The scream was raw, utterly shattered.
He thrashed, his body convulsing on the plug impaling him. He was speared at both ends: the sound in his cock a sharp, linear agony, the plug in his ass a deep, spreading crush, and his own middle ballooning under the violent internal pressure. He clawed at his stomach, eyes wide with panicked, overwhelming sensation. He couldn’t breathe. He could only moan, a continuous, broken sound, as his body was forcibly reshaped around the volume punishing it from within.