Chapter 10 #2
It was incredible.
He’d never experienced anything so perfect and blissful, and the sensations only grew as Sariel’s tongue breached him. There was only pressure, slick and perfect, and he gasped, letting his legs fall apart in hopes of urging Sariel deeper.
“Fuck yeah, Daddy,” Seymour murmured as he grabbed the pillow behind his head. “It’s good. It’s so fuckin’ good.”
Sariel kept sucking Seymour down, the tongue there teasing around his slit and laving the head with relentless pressure. The other tongue continued to thrust and writhe inside of Seymour, and it was growing thicker by the second.
The new stretch was intoxicating, and Seymour found it happening at such a steady pace that it was easy to relax and open up. The tension grew at the same rate, simmering and sweet, and he was already certain he was about to come.
That was fine. He could probably have a second orgasm, especially if Sariel’s dick was even half as good as his mouth.
Mouths?
Mouth with two tongues?
Magical angel tongue mouth.
Whatever.
Seymour let out a very undignified squeal of delight as Sariel proved just how magical he was by curling the lower half of his tongue right against Seymour’s prostate while the remainder swirled in firm circles all along his inner walls.
The pressure had reached a boiling point, his loins ached, and he was right on the edge.
“Sariel,” he warned. “I’m gonna… Fuck, I’m gonna…!”
But nothing happened.
He was there.
Right fucking there, balls tight and pulsing, and yet…
Nothing.
Something was wrong.
Sariel hadn’t stopped or slowed down, and new cracks erupted across his face and shoulders. He squeezed Seymour’s thighs greedily, and he caught Seymour’s gaze and winked.
He fucking winked.
“Oh, motherfuckin’ goddammit!” Seymour groaned, writhing impatiently.
He had no idea how, but he was certain Sariel was responsible for him not being able to get off.
What had been delicious bliss was now sinful torture, the previous tension burned like an inferno, and he knew now exactly what this was.
His punishment.
Seymour sobbed and squirmed, but there was nowhere to find relief. The tight grip of Sariel’s mouth and wriggling tongues were inescapable, and Seymour slapped the headboard in frustration. He tried to will himself to orgasm, but he couldn’t break whatever hold Sariel had over him.
His skin prickled with sweat, chills ran all over his body, and his heart thumped harder and harder until he thought it might explode. The ache was soon bordering on a new level of agony he’d never known, and the ongoing pleasure did nothing more than add to the overwhelming torment.
“Please,” he pleaded, not recognizing his own voice, as ragged and desperate as he sounded, as he went on. “Please, please, fuck, please, Daddy. I need to fuckin’ come.”
Sariel grunted.
It didn’t sound as if he believed Seymour.
“Please,” Seymour tried again. “I’ll be good. I’ll be so fuckin’ good for you. Please, please. I’ll be fuckin’ perfect, just let me fuckin’ come. Just let me fuckin’—”
There.
It was as if a switch had been flipped, and the torturous pressure vanished instantly. Seymour gasped in a quick breath, and before he’d even had a chance to exhale, he came.
Pulse after pulse left him yowling, his hips trembling as he spilled down Sariel’s throat.
His mind spun, and his vision sparked with bursts of fireworks as his head and shoulders lurched off the bed.
He couldn’t believe how his loins throbbed from being denied for so long, each wave of his climax drawing out a sob he swore was being pulled directly from his very soul.
The relief danced with pain, somehow still sweet and yet overwhelming, and Seymour let out one final cry before sagging back against the bed. His lashes fluttered as he panted, trying to get enough oxygen back into his lungs to power his brain.
“Daddy,” he murmured, limp and exhausted, and he stared dumbly at Sariel. It was like seeing him for the first time, especially since the thought of Sariel being an absolute god in the bedroom hadn’t occurred to him.
Okay, so it had, but to say Sariel exceeded any and all expectations was a vast understatement. It would have been more accurate to say that Sariel had completely decimated them, set the remaining bits on fire, and then stomped them into ash.
Sariel’s human mask was nearly gone now, flashes of the golden rings peeking through what was left of his face. The skin on his left shoulder had fallen away to reveal his countless eyes, but they were no longer set in smooth tan skin.
They were set in a mass of writhing, sinewy golden flesh.
It resembled muscle, but only if each strand of said muscle could wiggle like a worm on the end of a hook.
It was oddly mesmerizing, and Seymour had no idea if what he was seeing was truly one solid piece or if it was several individual parts moving together.
Like a bunch of snakes tangled up in one of those mating balls.
The eyes were all focused on Seymour, and Sariel smiled—well, as much as he could—as he said, “Did I succeed in bringing you pleasure?”
“So much fuckin’ pleasure,” Seymour gushed. “I might need your help trackin’ down my brains ’cause I just nutted ’em all across the floor.”
Sariel laughed, nuzzling Seymour’s thigh. “I am glad you enjoyed it.”
“Holy fuck balls.” Seymour ran his hands over his face. His pulse continued to race, and he groaned noisily. “I… I don’t even have the words. It was amazing. Even the teasin’. Okay, especially the teasin’.”
“I did warn you.” Sariel grinned.
He looked downright smug.
“Uh-huh.” Seymour sighed. “Guess I got what I deserved, huh?”
“Yes. Are you ready for more?”
“More punishment?”
“No, more sexual relations.” Sariel glanced over himself, suddenly shy as he added, “That is, if you want to continue.”
“Oh, that’s a big ten-four.” Seymour sat up with a grin so he could kiss Sariel’s glowing cheek. “That means yes.”
Sariel’s brow wrinkled up, but he nodded. “Thank you for clarifying.”
“Could I…” Seymour looked at Sariel’s exposed golden flesh. “May I touch you?”
“Of course.” Sariel blinked—that is, all of his eyes blinked together, though a few were slower than the rest. “You truly desire to?”
“Yeah, why not? It’s still you, ain’t it?” Seymour shrugged. “Just kinda wormy.”
“I am not wormy.”
“You’re a lil’ wormy.” Seymour chuckled, tracing one of the long lines of slithering muscle. “But I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
Sariel closed his eyes, tensing as Seymour explored.
Seymour had expected the flesh to feel wet, or perhaps slimy, but he found it smooth and soft like velvet. It was hot, and Seymour assumed Sariel’s feverish temperature was the result of his natural form bleeding through his human disguise.
Sariel remained posed as still as a statue, his many eyes firmly shut.
Seymour slid his fingers under the edge of Sariel’s skin, seeking to feel more of the soft muscle. The skin peeled back and cracked like the shell of an egg, and he gasped. “Shit. Did I hurt you?”
“No,” Sariel whispered. “It does not hurt.”
Seymour wasn’t so sure, and he returned to only caressing the exposed flesh. He kissed Sariel’s golden cheek. “You know, you’re really not so scary.”
A few of Sariel’s body-eyes opened.
“All this talk ’bout needin’ a safe word.” Seymour grinned. “You’re just a big, glowy, angelic Chia Pet.”
“A what?” Now all of Sariel’s eyes opened, and his brow wrinkled up.
“It’s a good thing. Trust me.” Seymour let his hand move lower now, palming over Sariel’s chest and then to his stomach. Lower still he went until he stopped just above Sariel’s cock.
He wasn’t hard.
“You, uh, okay?” Seymour asked softly.
“Yes, of course.” Sariel glanced down. “Ah, that is not… mine.”
“Part of your disguise?”
“Yes.”
“So, you have somethin’ else you’re plannin’ to stick in me?”
“Yes.”
Seymour waited expectantly.
Sariel tilted his head.
“What are you plannin’ to stick in me?” Seymour chuckled. “I, uh, wouldn’t mind gettin’ a look at it if that’s all right.”
Sariel tilted his head back the other way. “Are you certain? I do feel I should warn you that my genitals are unusual.”
Seymour swallowed back a laugh. “Look, just the fact that you have genitals is unusual, okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, adding Dogma to the list of movies to watch.” Seymour kissed Sariel again. “Whatever it is, it’s yours, and I don’t care. And don’t you blame that on my Aries impulsiveness or some moon risin’—”
“This time of year, it would be the Libra rising—”
“Look, I want my dick to be risin’, okay?” Seymour did laugh then. “Come on, Daddy. I want you.”
“Then you shall have me.” Sariel smiled shyly, and he urged Seymour’s hand down to touch his cock.
The flesh there melted away—which was mildly horrifying to see in such a delicate area—but a large strand of muscle was revealed in its place.
It resembled the other sinewy bits in its basic shape, but it had the girth of a beer can that tapered up to a thin, pointed head.
It was erect, pulsing, and Seymour’s mouth immediately filled with drool.
Yup.
That…
That was going inside him.
Seymour reverently grabbed Sariel’s cock, squeezing it gently as he slid his hand down to the base. His fingers could no longer meet there as the thickness was too great, and he groaned breathlessly. “Fuck, Daddy. Look at you.”
Sariel inhaled sharply, tentatively rocking into Seymour’s hand.
A shimmering fluid leaked from his slit. It was clear but filled with a bright golden glitter, and Seymour slid his thumb through it, finding it incredibly slick and warm. “Damn, look at that… Got you all wet, Daddy?”
“Yes,” Sariel said softly. “I want you very much.”
“You got lube around here? Or is that, uh, gonna work?”
“Traditional lubricant will be safer.” Sariel quickly reached into the drawer of his bedside table. He moved fast—there was a click, a squelch, and then he pushed Seymour back with a snarl, his wings flapping wildly.