The Demon Knows My Vice

It had been a simple command—a basic instruction even the most insignificant of creatures in this world could understand. Fight back. Moros wanted Mariah to fight back against him, to resist him, to claw and bite and snarl and show the strength of his blood in her veins, to give him something to see himself in her. But Mariah did nothing. She tried to snap at his powerful trunk of a foreleg a couple of times, but then she just collapsed, weak and exhausted. She was so frail, so pitiful, so outright pathetic. Whoever Alastor had conceived her with had diluted the strength in his blood to embarrassingly weak levels. If Mariah had been one of Moros' children, he would have culled her immediately upon birth. It would have been a mercy for something so wretched and destitute as her.

Meeting her hateful gaze with his own searing black eyes, the brute scoffed and sneered, baring dangerous fangs to her. The paw on her chest swiftly slid up to crush down on her throat, choking her with a press of his weight on her trachea. Not enough to kill her outright, but enough to stop her breathing entirely. "What a pathetic waste of life you are. Barely a wolf, not a drop of spirit in your body, not fit to survive in this world. If it wasn't for your sire and mother, you would have died days after you escaped whatever miserable womb you crawled out of." Snarling down at her, Moros brought his muzzle down so he might eclipse all of her vision, wanting her to see nothing but him before their finale. "Remember this lesson, Mariah: you are nothing more than a toy for the strong to use, enjoy, and throw away when you're spent."

With another snarl, Moros released Mariah's throat and then grasped her hips in his vise-like grip, wasting no time in flipping her thin body over so he could press her belly down into the darkness. He gave her no time to react, keeping her hips held aloft with one paw while the other moved to press against the back of her skull and hold her down beneath him, pressing her tear-streaked face into the invisible ground. Moros leaned his muzzle closer to Mariah's ear, whispering in his husky saccharine voice against the delicate appendage, "This is the only value you will ever have to anyone, Mariah." Moros bucked his hips in a slow roll, pressing the heat of his arousal against the little fae’s intimate flesh. "Time for you to learn your place." His paw flexed over her head, threatening to crush her skull underneath his massive paw while he held her still and brought his hips to hers. Then with a rough thrust, he joined their bodies forcefully together. Moros grit his teeth and snarled as he invaded her most sacred parts and felt her body engulf him against her will, each inch that violated her claiming her as his—his prey, his toy, his. In this abyssal realm, that's all she was now: his.

"Moros"