twenty-four -Brynn- #3
The marble head presses in, stretching me open, and then the first of the piercings catches on my entrance.
I feel the pressure, the impossible stretch, the coldness of the stone, and I want to scream. Yet even more than that, I want for him to watch, to see me trembling at the feel of his eyes searing this into his memory.
My thighs are shaking with the effort of holding myself above the thing, every single one of my muscles is locked and burning harder than they do in training as I grit my teeth and slide lower.
“Fucking hell,” Ares murmurs, coming closer to watch the point where stone meets flesh. He’s already in that inhuman state. His eyes are almost all black, his lips curled back in a wolfish sneer of approval.
I grind down further, the second piercing forcing a broken moan past my lips.
It’s bigger than the first, and the sensation is so alien to my body that a different kind of pleasure burns through me, strange and so wrong that I have to fight the urge to pull away and run.
But Ares is still here, impossibly close, so I brace my hands on the statue’s chest, feeling every muscle mirroring the original, and I shove myself down, taking the third piercing, then the fourth.
The fullness is unbearable, but so fucking addictive.
I want to stop, but I want even more to see Ares lose his mind watching me.
The marble hasn’t warmed, but my skin is so hot in contrast that it almost feels like it’s burning.
A guttural, animal sound echoes from his throat, and he grabs my hips, steadying me. Then he leans in, pressing his lips to the back of my neck. “You’re halfway there. Take it all, little curse.”
I force myself down and back, taking the fifth, the sixth.
I can feel every bulge, every piercing, every detail scraping and stretching me in ways that make my vision blur with tears.
I know I must look ridiculous, impaled on stone.
But somehow it starts to feel less like humiliation and more like something dangerously close to pleasure.
Still, the damn thing is so big, refusing to mold even just a little inside me. “I—can’t—” I say, panting, but Ares’s hands are there, one on the back of my neck, the other slowly sliding between my legs. His fingers feel cold and slick from my own arousal, though he doesn’t help, just waits.
“Yes, you can,” he says, voice now a command from the core of the earth. “Show me. Show me every fantasy we’ll explore together.”
I do. With a strangled sob, I push myself down the last inch, taking the seventh and final piercing inside.
It’s overwhelming. My entire lower body is now nothing but nerve endings and fullness.
But as Ares’ lips find my neck, the pain transforms into a thunderclap of pleasure so sharp I convulse around the intrusion.
I shudder, my limbs seem useless as the world goes black around the edges, and the sensation claims me.
Ares is instantly in front of me, his face inches from mine.
“Good girl,” he praises. There’s something almost gentle in the way he studies my face, the way he moves a loose strand of hair away from my mouth, though it’s quickly replaced by that raw, primordial desire dormant in all of us. “But now I want you to ride it harder.”
My body shudders at his words. But soon I become barely aware of Ares’ presence as I begin to move. It’s slow at first, the tiniest roll of my hips to test the limits of what my body and sanity can endure.
The piercings shift inside me, and I choke back a cry as the motion ignites every raw edge of sensation. Even now, some part of me is horrified, ashamed, but that only makes it more dizzying, more impossible to resist.
I start to ride it, finding a rhythm that pushes me over the brink of pain and into something that feels too good to dismiss.
Each push and pull is a revelation, a new way to break without breaking. I’m panting, moaning, my limbs shaking so hard I don’t know how much longer they’ll hold me up, but I don’t stop. I know he’s watching, living for every second. I want him to see it all.
It’s obscene. It’s exquisite. It’s everything I never knew I could want.
The marble scrapes into me with each thrust, the cold of it numbing and intensifying everything at once. My control slipping with every shuddered descent.
Ares’ breath is audible, loud with anticipation, but I don’t let it distract me.
Not yet. Not until I’ve taken every ounce of what he dared me to.
I ride harder, faster, the pleasure morphing into something like pain again, but sweeter, and definitely more than I can handle. Something that consumes me.
“Look at you,” Ares breathes, his voice rough with need. “Little curse, what have you done?” It’s a question and a praise altogether. But I can’t answer. I can barely think. There’s only the marble, the exact shape of him, and the way it feels to choose my own destruction.
I don’t hold back. I can’t. I fuck the stone like it’s fucking me back, like it’s the only thing keeping me alive, my breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.
The piercings catch and stretch, the cold biting impossibly deep, and I know I must look feral, insane, but I don’t care. I’m so close, so close, so—
Ares’ hand is suddenly between my legs, his fingers slick and unforgiving over my clit, and I explode. I scream, the sound echoing off the walls as I convulse around the statue, the orgasm ripping through me with such intensity that for a moment I think I might actually pass out.
Ares doesn’t let me. He pulls me back just as I start to slump further, and a cruel laugh echoes in his chest as he steadies me, as if to say, this is what you wanted, this is what you get.
I do get it. I get all of it, more than I ever imagined, the pleasure and the shame and the impossible, undeniable need.
He stands, and I watch, at the edge of lucidity, as he takes off his shirt. I swear every line of him is as perfect as the marble beneath me.
Then he undoes his belt. His pants, along with his underwear, drop to the floor. The sight of him unrestrained, approaching me with his own cock hard and glistening, makes my pussy clench even tighter around the statue, forcing every nerve to scream for more.
“Look at you, my little curse,” he taunts. “So ready to be fully ruined.”
Wait? What?
I thought what I did earlier was the definition of ruin…
I try to respond, but the words dissolve into a desperate moan.
He walks behind me, his hands moving down my ribcage as he kneels on the plinth with me, aligning himself to my ass.
For a second, I panic, thrashing, but he pins me with supernatural ease, bringing his forearm across my upper back to press me down to the cold stone.
The shock of the cold marble against my nipples causing an unwanted tremor to roll through my stretched and exhausted pussy.
“No,” I start to whimper, my pride struggling to keep at least an ounce of sanity, but even as I say it, some part of me is begging for more, begging for everything he’s about to give.
“Little curse, I didn’t know you were a liar,” he breathes, and I can hear the hunger in his voice.
“You want this. You want me in every shape and form.” Without waiting for an invitation, his hand goes between my folds, gathering the moisture there, then spreads it against my puckered hole and pushes in, the head of his cock breaching my entrance in a move that knocks the breath from my lungs.
He’s impossibly thick, not as inhuman as the statue, but terrifying in the context of my already-stretched body.
The contrast between the heat of his real flesh burns like a fever compared to the marble’s cold.
I try to scream, but it’s all noise, a broken animal whine as he drives himself in, piercing by piercing until he’s all the way in, so deep I feel it in my stomach.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he snarls, not slowing, not letting me adjust. “Taking both of us like you were made for this, for me. You’re mine, little curse. Every inch, every breath, every fucking thought. You know you’re mine.”
For a minute, there’s nothing but this: me impaled on the stone, him impaling me from behind, every inch of me claimed, opened, filled. The piercings catching on each other with each thrust Ares makes into my tight ass. My own body gives up on me.
I’m pinned between two gods, one of flesh, one of stone, and Ares lets out a sound, a savage snarl, as if my surrender is the only thing that matters in the universe.
He starts to move, thrusting in time with the rhythm of my own helpless rocking, and the sensations melt together until I lose all sense of which is his flesh and which is the statue.
“Mine,” Ares growls, his voice vibrating through my bones. “Every inch—every hole—every fucking breath,” he repeats over and over again like a fucking chorus to an immortal tune.
I’m sobbing now, not from pain, but from the relentless overload. From the way pleasure, humiliation, rage and surrender all merge into a single, shattering sensation.