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To say taking Daniv is difficult is a severe understatement. It’s not just the size — although the size is a big part of it, Kan thinks and sobs. The sheer enormousness of Daniv has terrified Kan from the start — his hulking inhuman silhouette, his abundance of fat, greenish tentacles, the single round eye as big as Kan’s entire head.
Yes, the size is a huge part of it, especially as it stretches Kan’s delicate, small body, seeks inside him for space that isn’t there, then lengthens deep into Kan’s gut while he can do nothing but lay there and take it. But size isn’t the only thing that makes taking Daniv difficult. It isn’t even the worst.
Daniv is an enormous ball of tentacles, round and huge. He uses those tentacles to move, to fight, to grab at the world. Most of them are dark green and hard, muscular, some as thick as Kan’s torso. Powerful. They could break Kan in a single moment of inattention, yet those aren’t the tentacles Kan fears most. They handle him carefully, and even when the thinner ones enter him, it’s not so bad — it’s just the size, the hardness, and the harsh texture that Kan has to suffer. And suffer it he does, often and at length, but somehow it’s manageable. After a century, he got used to, well, not the feeling, but to the idea of it. Squishy tiny hole, meet a large hard phallic object. Those encounters are brutal, and Kan can’t walk for hours after, but at least it’s conceivable — the physicality of it, the predictable, ordinary pain undercut by the simmering press of pleasure.
It’s the red ones Kan fears, those which Daniv protects inside the mass of his writhing body. They’re soft and squiggly, thinner compared to the green but just as long. The texture varies. Some are uniform and slick, some have protrusions of different sizes and hardness, some are mostly smooth but for a few excruciatingly rough patches. That alone is difficult to deal with, but then there’s also the slick Daniv’s body produces to protect the soft red skin from the elements. It’s viscous. It’s oily. And it’s abundant — especially when Daniv’s red tentacles are properly stimulated. And the inside of Kan’s body is very, very stimulating.
Kan’s stomach gurgles as two pulse inside him. He crosses his legs around them and undulates in a parody of a dance. Daniv has him standing, a thick, green tentacle wrapped around Kan under his armpits, rubbing his inflamed nipples with no mercy. Kan grips that tentacle and dances on his toes as two long, slippery shapes slither in and out of him. They alternate, oh gods, fast, in the thu-thump rhythm of Kan’s racing heartbeat. One goes in, the other out. Reverse. In — out. Reverse. Kan’s hips sway to escape them despite him knowing — from numerous previous experiences — how futile it is. Gods, gods, no. No more. Stop. They burn inside him, so deliciously, each with a different type of fire, and he dances.
That is what Kan can’t take, that burn, that preternatural fire. Each red limb has its own kind. Some heat him deep, like fire; other only on the surface, like something chemical; some resemble nimble icicles. Right now, one is like an embodied flame, so hot it feels shapeless. Its counterpart is a cold, oily electric eel that forces Kan’s muscles to contract around the impossible intrusion and cling to its twisting coils. Kan thinks there are outgrowths on one of them, but he’s not sure. The sum of all the sensations is too overwhelming to focus on just one aspect. The continuous in-out of it is too fast and too deep. The burn — all-encompassing. The fullness — warm, painful, and swirling.
That is. That...
The thick liquid inside him builds and sloshes, seeps from his hole around the rapid thrusts, slides down his trembling thighs, then down, down his legs, into the slippery pool under his feet. It’s already cold when he feels it between his toes. Sometimes he slips on it, and the tentacles surging up him are the only thing keeping him upright, the only thing real. Then, the unforgiving barrage of movement cants his hips up in a direct assault on his prostate. Which makes him go quiet for a change.
There can be no voice when there is no breath left.
His slip-ups always end in deep, prolonged anal orgasms that make his lower body convulse and leave his ears ringing. He’s too weak, after, to beg Daniv to stop, no matter how much he wants to. Kan’s personal demon likes to take his time, especially with his red tentacles. They aren’t as damaging to Kan’s body as the hard outer ones. Kan should appreciate how considerate Daniv is. Yes, being thorough should also be deemed considerate. A human needs every drop of cum fucked out of them at least once a day, it’s healthy. Also, Kan’s core muscles need regular exercise, less they grow weak. And Kan’s beautiful legs, those are an entire separate project. If Kan isn’t properly grateful for the attention and excellent care he receives, Daniv will put a tiny tentacle up his cock, a tentacle so bright red it’s nearly fluorescent. Does he want that?
Kan doesn’t want that. He lost consciousness only fifteen minutes in — the last time Daniv did — and Daniv is not the type of demon who will begrudge Kan’s body its fun just because his mate’s mind isn’t present to enjoy it. So Kan came to all his holes oversensitive, stretched full, and being used with Daniv’s typical vigor. A mere moment later, he experienced the most intolerable dry orgasm of his life, then promptly fainted again. Daniv took mercy on him only after the tenth time this happened — a nice, round number — and then, to add insult to injury, Kan had to beg Daniv for one more. Because, while he orgasmed oh so many times, he technically didn’t cum. So Kan prostrated himself before Daniv — balls heavy and frustrated, hole gaping, cock inflamed — opened his legs wide, and begged for a good, harsh milking. He had to. Really, he did! He would’ve exploded otherwise.
The memory alone makes Kan’s face and stomach burn with shame. He’s nobility, for crying out loud! He begs for nothing!
Daniv begs to differ. In fact, he’d very much like a repeat performance. Kan is always beautiful, but when he’s truly willing that beauty shines so much brighter. That’s why Daniv enjoys Kan’s desperate moments, especially since they’re so rare. Soon, he’ll plug Kan’s pretty, delicate cock again, and work him relentlessly from both front and back, but not today. Today, he already wrenched every last drop of cum out of Kan’s balls, all without touching his cock once. Kan’s genitals look soft and nicely worn out despite their disuse, but they’re not the star of today’s exercise. His ass is. Daniv’s huge eye hangs at the bottom of the demon’s body, focused intently on Kan’s bubbly, muscular rear. Daniv finds the dance of flesh under the skin incredibly fascinating — the violent twists of Kan’s waist, helpless spasms reshaping his buttocks around a swollen entry point, involuntary cramps pulsing through the plushness of Kan’s ripe, overworked sphincter. And those legs. Oh, those legs! Daniv can spend hours making them dance, and he often does.
Muscles writhing under skin, they’re like trapped tentacles, yearning to be freed. Daniv likes to be similarly trapped, inside Kan. This way, he becomes a part of his mate’s dance. Kan is a trap, a jailer, an inescapable if fragile prison, and a part of Daniv resents him for it. Daniv is an independent being by nature. He never had a master and he’ll never have one. It’s disquieting, that Kan makes for such a warm and cozy prison, that Kan’s body is so captivating, his emotions so strong and singular. Daniv shouldn’t crave their mutual dance so much. Only always being the one who leads makes the situation bearable. So Daniv pushes and pulls, and Kan’s hips follow, back and forth, back and forth. Daniv spills more of his grudging satisfaction inside his partner and palpates Kan’s stomach with a curious tentacle — since he can’t currently see it.
“I’m full, stop!” Kan screams inside Daniv’s mind. It’s another way they’re mutually trapped in each other. No longer just separate beings; never alone. Daniv flexes in triumph while Kan trashes, both inside and out. Daniv would’ve purred if he had a mouth. It’s already been a century, and Kan is still reluctant to accept his new reality. Their relationship is imperfect, and a lot of work is still before them. If anything makes Daniv happy, it’s that. He loathes boredom, and one century is nothing in the face of all the centuries stretching endlessly ahead. He's glad he’ll have such a beautiful thing to do in all that infinite time.
Perfection is carved meticulously — from reluctant desire, beautiful pain, and violent pleasure, Kan knows, at least that’s how it is in the world of demons. He doesn’t want to accept it, yet he knows he must. At some point. One day, he’ll become both more and less of himself, he knows, defeated but finally at peace, but not today, not yet. He still has a war to fight, against Daniv, against himself, even if he may lose a battle now and again.
He’ll probably lose this one, too. He’s too full, and it’s not even about the abundance of Daniv’s syrupy secretions anymore. His core radiates preternatural, pulsing heat, and he doesn’t feel real anymore. He tries to fight it, but Daniv wants him to stay in that place, strung taut between pain and pleasure. The tentacles inside him speed up. Then, there’s more pressure — in the furnace between his legs.
Wait, more?! He can’t take more!
But it’s not like he has a say on the matter, and the third tentacle wriggles inside him. All his muscles lock for a moment, and his entire body freezes. This third tentacle is very textured, which Kan experiences acutely as it thrusts in. It winds around the other two, transforming them into a parody of an enormous phallus. Its coils bore into Kan’s tender flesh, and his empty cock pulses. It’s too much. No, scratch that — it was too much an hour ago. Kan wouldn’t have had words to call whatever this is, were words still real.
After the initial moment of panic, the rigid tension leaves Kan in a wave of sensory overload. He slumps over Daniv’s tentacle supporting his torso and doesn’t let himself drown in the feeling as much as is swept away. His senses fold in on themselves, and he stops existing outside of Daniv. He’s going to hate himself for that later, except there’s no “later” — only now, rolling through his helpless, limp body with a shudder.
It feels so fucking good.
Daniv preens in Kan’s overwhelmed mind, and that feels good, too. Satisfying your demon always does, it’s hard-wired into the mating bond. There’s no shame in it. Or — there shouldn’t be. If only Kan wasn’t such a prideful creature, raised to believe he’s better than this. They’re quite the pair, the two of them, both fighting the very nature of their connection so hard, while secretly craving it at the same time. Only in moments like this are they truly at peace — when the overload of Kan’s senses causes his emotions to go into overdrive, melding both their shapes and minds into one. That’s how their bond happened in the first place, so many years ago. They both yearn for this feeling, and at the same time loath it. The tranquility of it is terrifying.
Now too, when they brush the edges of that terror, they both recoil. Beyond this line lies acceptance, and neither Kan nor Daniv are ready for it yet. By mutual understanding, Daniv uncoils his big green tentacle from around Kan’s torso and lets his human spill to the ground. Kan lands with legs spread and emptied ass up, and it’s deliberate — he needs something to ground him after all that emotional upheaval, something to remind him of their places in this game.
Daniv, too, could use a reminder. He picks a green tentacle as wide as Kan’s fist, to emphasize how uncaring he’s being, and unceremoniously stuffs it in Kan’s waiting hole, then starts fucking.
Kan shakes with the familiar pain and cries tears of both torment and deep relief. That’s it. He’s just a fucktoy. He doesn’t want this. It means nothing.
Daniv fucks him until his hole is too red and swollen to continue safely. Kan is whining and sobbing, but presents his ass obediently. Daniv is calling all the shots. He owns Kan, and Kan has no sway over him. Yes, that’s right, those are their places, safe and familiar.
The relief of it is so profound it pushes Kan over the edge one last time.