5. - #2
I buzz again. He has such a way with words.
I give him a nod, waiting patiently. He reaches into his other jeans pocket and pulls out a little doll similar to patches, except the eyes are Sera's.
They're swirling golden, like a bronze sunset.
The eyes are stitched deep into the fleshy skull, with pieces of her blonde hair glued to the top of the scalp.
Covered in black stitching and jagged, ripped, uneven pieces of peach colored flesh, he hands me the doll.
It fits perfectly into my palms. Pressure builds behind my eyes.
He created this for me. He went through a lot of trouble collecting pieces of skin from multiple people, and gathering the eyes I had plucked out, just for me.
It may not be the cleanest crafting job, but it's the thought that counts.
I blink and stare at it, overflowing with different emotions. He's not the craftiest person around, so this is a beautiful and thoughtful surprise. “Thank you. I love it.”
I place the doll down beside me. I don't want it to get ruined in the wake of the crazy.
As soon as the doll is placed on the floor, I launch myself at Talon, sending us both to the ground.
I straddle him with his hands caressing my thighs.
I wiggle over the bulge in his pants, smearing my juices on him.
With hooded eyes, I scan every inch of him, committing it to memory.
I want to remember this ritual, the time we've spent together ensuring we contribute to the coven.
Talon's fingers flick to the ribbons hiding my nipples, moving it down to pop it free. His mouth closes over it, nipping and pulling until I'm clawing at his shirt on his chest.
“Talon,” I whine, needing more pressure, more touch, more everything.
But Talon doesn't give in that easily. He yanks the other one, twisting and pinching, while sucking the other.
Writhing, I wiggle away from him, but with his hand securely in the leash, his other arm comes up underneath me and lifts me as he stands.
Keeping the leash and subsequently the collar taut, he crushes our lips together as he strides to the throne, the dark material gloomy in the poor lighting.
He places my butt on the seat, stealing my breath in our heated exchange.
The prongs bury into my skin, keeping me in one place at his mercy. His mouth moves from my lips to my neck, licking the blood that lingers and smears down my throat.
Emotions overwhelming me, I lean into his mouth as the pain edges on pleasure, creating a deeper chasm of need than before. Each movement of his lips delivers a kiss of cathartic relief.
I don't want it to stop.
“Talon,” I whine with an oscillating pitch, disgusted by my own voice.
He breaks away on a smirk. “Alright, alright,” he says, offering his palms in relent. He sits on his knees before me and pulls his shirt over his head, letting it and the leash fall to the floor. I stare at him, signaling to keep disrobing.
He gets the hint.
He kicks his jeans off, and for good measure, kicks it away from us. His ribbed cock springs free, already at attention.
Looming over me, his wings eject from his back.
My baby hairs tickle my face as they flap, chilling me to the bone.
They wrap around me like a pair of arms, lifting me from the throne as Talon sits in my place.
His expansive wings leak over the hand rests, crumpling at the ends as they brush against the ground.
As he lowers me, he breaches me through the crotchless lace panties, seating me completely on him as the grooves in his cock hit all the right spots going in.
My eyes and head lull backwards. A barely audible curse escapes my lips, inhibited by the device around my neck.
Talon's hips pump shallowly. With one hand on the crest of the throne and the other on Talon's broad shoulder, I take over the tempo, seating myself fully onto him. He chuckles, gaze raking over me. My nipples brush against his chest as I rise and fall, perking them with each lift.
“Taking over, are we?” He retorts, pulling the collar around my neck tighter, closing the distance between our faces. His hot breath wafts over my nose as the chrome pierces deeper into the skin of my neck.
My gasp quickly devolves into a mewl, pussy quivering around his cock.
Using the collar and leash as leverage, he jerks me up and down with harsh force, filling me to the brim and fucking the air out of my lungs.
My coffin nails tug and drag at his skin, leaving inflamed, pinkish-red lines with droplets of scarlet peeking through.
My scalp tingles. My body trembles. A slick layer of perspiration coats my breasts and underarms, but my bones feel cold. The friction heats my insides, sending signals of warmth through my veins, but the chill is too deep to satisfy completely.
Agony and ecstasy tangle together like a bundle of necklaces - there's no telling where one starts and the other ends. There's no discernment between the two.
I don't think that I mind.