Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
His seed floods me, a biological cocktail of strange substances that wash all the way up to the very neck of my womb, his essence sinking into the core of me, his flesh becoming mine, my flesh becoming his.
He keeps me there, impaled on his cock, his cum trapped inside my captive pussy as he flies on through the night, apparently unconcerned by the question of where to land. As long as we are up here, we are separate from everything below. The laws of the world, of physics and biology themselves do not seem to apply anymore.
I am left dripping and aching, inseminated with the seed of a monster as we land in a maze of shipping containers in the middle of one of Brooklyn’s industrial districts. I am not sure which one because I was too busy orgasming on the rod of a hell-beast. This has not been my most professional moment. I am making those cops in 80’s action movies who blow up half the city look like reasonable employees. I’ve baited a dangerous criminal, I’ve gotten myself abducted, and now all statistical odds about second locations, etcetera, tell me I’m about to be murdered. Hard.
I glance about to try and get my bearings. It’s always nice to know where one’s mutilated corpse will be found. These containers do not look like they have been moved or touched in a long time. There’s a lot of spider webbing around the place. Canvas canopies cover the space between them, almost as if the space was designed to provide shelter for something large. Machinery probably.
The monster holds me still until we have come to a complete halt. Only then does he let me go, and only with three hands. The fourth one stays on the back of my shirt. Jesus fuck, I just fucked this thing.
“What have you done?” I breathe the question at him. I have lost a lot of moral authority by allowing him to ravage me. Even if I didn’t truly have an absolute choice in that, I lost authority when I wanted it as badly as he did. I could pretend otherwise, but the moment that curling tongue touched my clit, I was done.
“Made you more sensible, I hope,” he says. He speaks to me as if my objection to being aerially abducted was unreasonable. He has a very toppy vibe to him. I noticed it when we first met, but now that I am being subjected to the disciplinary and sexual effects of that vibe, I feel it plain as day.
“You had sex with me.”
“You needed to be fucked,” he says plainly. “You were erratic, petulant, and aroused. I have done you a service. The least you could do is say thank you.”
“Thank you for fucking me?”
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“I didn’t…” There’s no point arguing. I am embarrassing myself when what I really should be doing is pulling my pants up. I do so and am rewarded by the feeling of leggings full of moth monster seed being pressed against the sex-soaked lips of my pussy.
This is twisted. And hot. And probably sick. My mind flashes to the sudden realization that if I report this, and I will have to report this, I’ll have to legally mention the fact that I had sex with the murderous moth monster.
I am in fucking deep now, literally.
I still have the baton in my hand. Shame, outrage, training, you name the reason, I raise it in a foolish attempt to regain some semblance of control over this situation. I intend to slam it down on some part of his rock hard anatomy, but he catches my arm with his upper left hand before I can crack whatever passes for a skull beneath that surprisingly glossy and soft hair.
His eyes flare with irritation as he stares down at me, our discrepancy in height making me think I should stop bothering going for the face and just go for the knee instead.
“Stop fighting,” he says. “Just stop. I thought detectives were supposed to be intelligent.”
“You’re a flying monster who has left a trail of bodies across the city. You killed good people. People who had lives left to live. You cut them short, and…”
He lets out a sigh. “If I was the creature you believe me to be, I would have already ripped your throat out to get you to stop lecturing me. Listen, detective. I am not the mothman you are looking for.”
“Yeah. It’s your psycho brother dropping bodies across Brooklyn. I heard your excuse. But you also just abducted me from my home, so forgive me if I don’t believe you when you tell me you’re not going to kill me.”
“Who is that?” The question rattles from the dark nearby, stopping me mid-argument and setting my head on a swivel.