Using thepromptfoundry’s Ominous October list.
My OC Ira again, in his home setting in Boston. This one is pure self-indulgent kink. At last. Everything keeps coming out sfw on me this year.
August Castaigne is new. I’ve been meaning to populate Ira’s setting with more friends and foes.
CWs for force-femming, magical body alteration/shapeshifting (force-femming is very literal here), dubcon, a bit of breeding kink.
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Ira owes August Castaigne big for pulling his ass out of the fire on his last case and he knows it, so he can’t argue with how Castaigne wants to call in the marker.
Which is why he’s stripped naked on hands and knees on an altar in Castaigne’s garden under the full moon. Castaigne’s cock is buried in his ass, rutting inside him while Castaigne’s chanting rumbles through him from where his chest is pressed against Ira’s back.
Castaigne specializes in summonings. He used to belong to a cult here in Boston, but he’s rethought that lifestyle. These days he’s freelance. Fond of Ira though, for helping him shake loose of the cult. Maybe, Ira considers, more fond of Ira than is good for Ira.
Or maybe he’s just a sadist with a kink for degradation and a terrible sense of humor.
Either way, the full moon is cresting to the horizon, and as Castaigne’s chant picks up, Ira bites his lips together. He can feel Castaigne calling the moon into him. Its light makes a delicate music in his mind where it falls across his body.
The first thing he notices is his awareness of Castaigne’s cock. It makes him feel so full and ripe. He can’t stop noticing its size and hardness in him, how it penetrates and moulds him to fit it. How claimed he feels each time it thrusts into his body.
It’s like being mounted by a stag—which is a loopy thing to think, but he’s feeling pretty loopy all of a sudden. A moon goddess, being bent over and taken by the beast she hunts.
The next thing is how his flesh is turning malleable.
Castaigne’s arms wrap tight around him. His hands are glowing, spilling over with liquid light. One settles to knead at Ira’s chest. Ira’s back bows, arching into it, as his breasts grow, soft and tender, till the weight of them bounces as he’s rocked forward on Castaigne’s cock. The press of fingers into his yielding flesh comes with a frightening, delicious soreness that makes him squirm, press forward into that hand and back onto his cock.
The other slides downward to cup his groin. There was a cock there a few moments ago, but it’s receding, leaving behind a rounded mound and erect clit. The realization spikes terror through Ira—the reality of his body being changed like this, remade for another man’s enjoyment—and he sobs as he rocks against that cupping palm.
He grinds down on the fingers that are splitting him open, over-ripe, where they push into his dripping, hot flesh. It hurts, and it aches. The fear and need of it churn in in his gut and he whimpers like an animal.
Castaigne pulls out of him—Ira opens his mouth to beg, he’s not done, he’s not ready yet—and the thick, hard head of him presses against the hungry lips of Ira’s new cunt. Ira’s head falls back, mouth hanging open, as he’s filled for the first time in this new, needy hole.
Castaigne groans and tips him forward so he can drive downward into him with more force. “That’s right.” His voice is an eager growl in counterpoint to Ira’s yelps and moans, higher and softer than usual. “Be a good girl. Don’t resist while I breed you.”
Ira’s head swims. He needs it. The moon that’s come to rest in him, full and round, opens up like a womb in his center and begs for Castaigne’s cock.
Sequel: Promptober Day 22: A Moonless Night
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