Chapter 5: Break the Bed
The drip-drip-drip from the ruined television was the only sound piercing the thick silence. Arthur lay face down on the damp rug, the smell of ozone, sex, and cheap carpet cleaner he’d used earlier clinging to his nostrils. His limbs felt like lead, his mind a numb void. The flickering lamp cast long, grotesque shadows.
Then, fingers like talons dug into his shoulder. "Right then, Sleeping Beauty," Sasha rasped, her voice hoarse from screaming but buzzing with manic energy. "Nap time's over. Up you get, Artie-mouse." She hauled him upright with unnatural strength. He stumbled, legs trembling, the cold air hitting his sweat-slicked skin.
She didn't let him find his balance. One hand clamped around his bicep, the other shoved firmly against the small of his back. "Bedroom. Now. You need proper servicing after that pathetic little dribble." Her tail snaked around his thigh, squeezing possessively. "Time to use me proper. Like your own personal slag mum."
"Sa-Sasha, please," Arthur stammered, his voice thin and cracked. "I... I can't. The TV... the mess..." He gestured weakly towards the glistening screen and the puddle beneath it.
"Fuck the telly!" she barked, propelling him forward. Her bare feet slapped on the worn floorboards. "Fuck the mess! Fuck everything except me, you daft git!" She kicked open the flimsy bedroom door. The small room was dominated by a narrow, ancient iron-framed bed, piled high with mismatched blankets and surrounded by precarious stacks of books and papers. The faint scent of dust and old paper lingered beneath Sasha's overwhelming musk.
With a grunt, she flung him backwards. He hit the thin mattress with a soft whump, bouncing slightly. Before he could even register the impact, she was on him. Her weight pressed him down, the cheap springs groaning in protest. Her unnaturally smooth, plastic-like skin felt hot against his chest.
Her hand shot down, fingers wrapping around his flaccid cock with a grip that bordered on painful. "Wakey-wakey, little soldier," she snarled, lowering her head. Her blonde hair, stiff as straw, tickled his stomach. She didn't kiss. She engulfed him, taking him deep into her throat with a single, savage motion. Arthur gasped, arching off the bed as her suction pulled violently.
Three times. Brutal, wet, slurping sucks that felt less like pleasure and more like assault. Her throat muscles worked like a piston, her nose buried in his pubic hair. She pulled off with an obscene pop, saliva stringing from her swollen, puffy lips to his glistening shaft. Her vacant blue eyes locked onto his, gleaming with feral hunger.
"Right," she breathed, thick droplets of spit landing on his belly. "Enough foreplay for princesses." She straddled him, her massive, unnaturally rounded buttocks settling heavily onto his hips. One hand guided him, the other braced against his chest. Her talons pricked his skin.
Then she dropped.
Arthur cried out – a strangled sound of shock and overwhelming sensation. She took him to the hilt in one brutal plunge, her internal muscles clamping down like a vice. There was no easing in, no rhythm established. She began to ride him immediately, a piston-driven frenzy. Up and down, hard and fast, her hips pistoning with impossible force. The bedframe shrieked in protest, metal grinding against metal.
"FUCKING TAKE IT!" she roared, her head thrown back, horns scraping the low ceiling. Her breasts bounced violently with each downward slam. Drool flew from her lips, spattering his chest, his face. Her tail lashed the air like a whip. "DRILL ME! FUCK YOUR SLAG MUM RAW!"
The sound was appalling. Wet, slapping flesh. Grinding metal. Sasha's guttural screams and filthy promises. "Gonna make you cum so hard you see fucking stars, Artie! Gonna milk that pathetic librarian cock dry!" Her internal muscles rippled and clenched around him, a pulsing, demanding heat. "Every drop! Pump it deep! Breed your fucking bimbo bitch!"
Arthur was pinned, overwhelmed. His hands scrabbled uselessly at her meaty hips, finding no purchase on the slick plastic skin. His vision blurred. The shame, the disgust, the sheer wrongness of it warred violently with the raw, undeniable pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in his gut. The bed groaned louder, a sharp metallic ping sounding as a bolt sheared somewhere beneath them.
Sasha threw herself down harder, faster. Her movements became jerky, uncontrolled. "YES! YES! FEEL IT! FEEL ME SQUIRTING ALL OVER YOUR PATHETIC COCK!" she shrieked. And she did. A hot, gushing flood erupted from her, soaking his groin, the sheets beneath them, cascading down his thighs. The smell, thick and cloying, filled the tiny room.
The sudden deluge, the impossible tightness, the violent rhythm – it snapped the last thread of Arthur's control. A strangled roar tore from his throat as his hips bucked upwards involuntarily, meeting her downward slam. He emptied himself into her with a force that felt like his spine was liquefying, a deep, pulsing release that left him gasping and blind.
Simultaneously, with a final, deafening CRACK, the ancient iron bedframe gave way. The center support snapped. The mattress buckled violently inwards. Arthur and Sasha plummeted downwards in a tangle of limbs, blankets, and splintered wood, landing with a heavy thud on the floorboards amidst the wreckage.
Dust motes danced in the air. Silence descended, broken only by Arthur's ragged gasps and the frantic dripping of Sasha's fluids onto the broken slats beneath them. She lay half on top of him, momentarily still.
Then, with a wet squelch, she pulled herself off his softening cock. Before he could even register the sudden emptiness, she scrambled up onto her knees amidst the debris. Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. With surprising strength, she hauled his upper body upwards.
Her other hand grabbed his spent cock, still slick with her fluids and his own release. She squeezed it roughly, forcing a weak twitch. Then, with a swift, brutal motion, she shoved it upwards, pressing it hard between the valley of her impossibly large, unnaturally firm breasts. They squeezed tight around him, hot and slick.
Her face loomed inches from his, her breath hot and smelling faintly of sulphur. Her vacant blue eyes were wide, pupils dilated. A trickle of drool escaped the corner of her smeared lips. She grinned, sharp and predatory.
"Right," she rasped, her voice thick with lust and exertion. "Now facefuck me till I puke, you timid little bookworm." She tilted her head back, opening her mouth wide, revealing a hint of unnaturally pointed teeth. "Shove it down my throat. Make your slag gag." Her tail thumped rhythmically against the broken bed frame beside them. "Do it. Now."