The Demon Knows My Vice

Suddenly pinned beneath Moros’ relentless hold, panic surged within Mariah as she his paw slammed to her chest, the force of it threatening to crush her into place. She writhed desperately beneath him, trying to free herself from his monstrous grip while snapping at the limb that held her against the ground. The pain of his claws digging into her tender flesh was excruciating, and she could barely draw breath, her petite frame writhing against the relentless force of him. The menacing growl that rumbled through him, vibrating against her frail body, sent a shiver of dread coursing through her veins. Moros was terrifyingly larger than her, powerful and gruesome in his unrestrained desire. A whimper escaped her throat as his paw shifted downward, cruelty glinting in the demon’s eyes as he held her there. Mariah struggled against the invisible ground, hoping to find some purchase, some leverage that might let her twist away from him.  As he tightened his grip on her thigh, his claws piercing her delicate skin, she let out a gasp of pain. His arousal against her lower belly made her stomach churn with revulsion. The taste of fear was bitter on her tongue as she opened her mouth, desperate to fill her lungs with air. To scream. But of course, the sound never came.  Stop!

Despair washed over Mariah as his sinister words echoed in her ears. He wanted her to fight, to prove herself, but she barely had the strength to breathe. The horror of her situation was paralyzing, smothering any remaining spark of defiance beneath a suffocating blanket of terror. She could feel Moros gloating in her weakness, the power he held over her an intoxicating thrill. His laughter was a cacophony in her ears, a harsh reminder of his victory. With each growling word, each sadistic grin, he was taking something from her: dignity, strength, hope. A helpless fury burned within her, a seething ember stoked by every vile touch and word. Yet, that fury was buried beneath Moros' oppressive presence, further dampened by her own frailty. How weak she was, and she hated herself for it.

It truthfully didn’t take much effort- the weight of his body pressing against her own frail form was a stark reminder of the grimness of her predicament. The putrid scent of his tainted breath fanned over her face, mingled with the acrid tang of her own fear-sweat. As he threatened her by grinding his masculinity more insistently, his touch was like a branding iron, searing her sanity with every passing moment. Silent tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. She wanted to push back against him- to fight as he demanded, but her voice seemed lost, and her limbs felt weak and unresponsive. A shiver of abhorrence passed through her as she felt his arousal, a grotesque and unwanted intimacy that made her skin crawl. His cold, predatory eyes were filled with a perverse delight, feeding off her terror like a leech drawing blood, and she at his mercy.

"Mariah Mendacium"