It is agony first—raw, animal, the sound of flesh flash-cooking against living fire. His body bows backward, every muscle locked, veins standing out like cables beneath his skin. Smoke rises, sweet and sickening.
Then the scream changes key.
Pain flips inside out into something worse: ecstasy.
The bone sinks into him as though his body was always meant to receive it. Scar tissue parts and knits around the glowing shaft in the space of a heartbeat. When Beda releases her grip, the thing is fused to him—a monstrous cock of livingfire and bone, rigid, throbbing, impossibly hot, veins of magma pulsing along its length.
Saulo stares down at himself, eyes wide, pupils blown black with worship. He touches it reverently—his own fingers sizzle where they brush the surface—and laughs, a broken, delighted sound.
Beda lets the robe fall.
It pools at her feet like spilled midnight. She is naked underneath, skin moon-pale and perfect, breasts heavy, waist narrow, the dark triangle between her thighs already glistening. She climbs onto the obsidian slab with feline grace, stretches out on her back, and spreads her legs wide.
The chains clink softly as she positions herself.
“Remember, boy,” she says, voice husky with command and promise, “my cunt belongs to Kaerith. But my ass?—”
She turns her head toward me, eyes glittering like chips of black ice.
“—my ass is yours to ruin.”
Saulo is on her in an instant.
He falls on her like a starving thing, claws digging into her hips hard enough to bruise even Waira flesh. The glowing bone-cock brands the inside of her thigh as he lines himself up, leaving a perfect red welt. Beda arches, moaning, welcoming.
He thrusts.
There is no gentleness, no hesitation. The red-hot bone spears into her ass in one brutal stroke, and the sound she makes is pure, unholy bliss. Her back bows off the slab; the chains sing as her wrists jerk against them. Smoke hisses where searing bone meets tender flesh, the scent of burning meat and frantic lust flooding the chamber.
Saulo fucks her like damnation made motion—no rhythm, no mercy, just raw, pounding need. Each thrust drives that molten shaft deeper, and every time he pulls back the air fills with thewet, obscene sizzle of cooking flesh. Beda writhes beneath him, thighs spread impossibly wide, heels drumming on the stone, mouth open in a silent scream of rapture.
“Yes—yes—burn me, boy—brand me from the inside?—”
Her voice cracks into a guttural snarl of pleasure as he slams home again, hips grinding, the glowing cock buried to the root. Sparks fly where his pelvis slaps against her skin. Her body is sheened with sweat and smeared with soot and her own juices; the slab beneath her ass is already blackened.
Saulo leans forward, teeth bared, and bites down on the meat of her shoulder. Blood wells, dark and rich. He drinks as he fucks, swallowing her blood like wine, hips never slowing, the bone-cock pulsing hotter with every heartbeat.
Beda comes with a howl that rattles the skulls on the walls. Her whole body convulses, cunt clenching on nothing, ass gripping that burning shaft so hard Saulo’s eyes roll back in his head. Clear fluid spurts from her untouched pussy in rhythmic pulses, splattering the slab, steaming where it lands.
And still he does not stop.
He flips her over—rough, careless—chains twisting as she is forced onto her belly. He yanks her hips up, spreads her cheeks wide, and drives back in. The angle is deeper now, crueler; the head of the bone-cock must be kissing the deepest part of her. Beda claws at the stone, nails scraping, babbling in tongues older than pain.
I hang in my chains and watch, tears streaming, unable to look away.
Because she loves it.
Every searing thrust, every hiss of burning flesh, every drop of blood Saulo licks from her skin—she loves it more than breath. Her face is alight with ecstasy so profound it looks like religious transcendence. She is being destroyed and remade with every stroke, and she is grateful.
Saulo’s pace turns frantic. His glowing cock swells impossibly larger, veins flaring white-hot. With a final, bestial roar he buries himself to the hilt and comes—molten seed erupting inside her in burning pulses that make Beda scream again, higher, thinner, a sound no human throat should make.
When he pulls out, the bone-cock comes free with a wet, sucking pop. Her asshole is a ruined, blackened ring, smoking gently, seed the color of molten gold oozing out in thick ropes. Beda collapses onto the slab, trembling, laughing through tears of overwhelmed pleasure.
Saulo stands over her, chest heaving, the bone-cock still rigid and glowing, dripping. He looks at me.
For the first time since they entered, he truly sees me.
And smiles with all his broken teeth.
Beda pushes herself up on shaking arms, turns her head toward me, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed with afterglow and promise.
“Class has only just begun, little cunt,” she whispers, voice raw from screaming. “And you’ll be such an eager student.”
The fire roars higher, as if in agreement.
And I realize no one is coming to save me.
