Incident 682/D

	When the alarms began to ring, I knew it was my time to get the fuck out of dodge. And by dodge, I mean this twelve by five cell from hell, cold as Alaska and just as spartan. As I gathered my few belongings: a shiv made from a plastic bottle, a flail from a spare boot and my pillowcase, and a few painkillers I had saved from the meals they brought me, I waited for the shouts and footfalls to calm outside.

	Mind you, this was going to be a shitfest. One I had prepared for from... as far as I can remember being here. Even before. The notes I left for myself explained the situation well enough. Napkins written in a code I had invented as a kid to talk to a friend of mine, repurposed into a set of perforations, serving as writing disguised as a nervous habit. Each one, I flushed after reading. Each one instructed me to keep at the bolts in the door, to keep weakening the hinges. Each one kept me sane with a plan.

	I mean, shit, I was here two weeks and some change if my memory's to be trusted. Which it isn't. The notes told me, well, I told me that I've been here approximately seven months. And two weeks and some change. Memory clearing tricks or some shit, they used here.

	All I knew was, alarms mean a breach in security, attention on something else. Blind spots to abuse so I could get out of this hellhole. The fucking things they showed us, had us do, had us work with, they weren't normal, and I already had my fair share of non-real bullshit to deal with since I could remember.

	I brought my foot against the hinged portion of the door and was rewarded with a satisfying series of creaks and groans: loud, but not terribly so, and definitely not audible above the screaming alerts. Blaring noise, interspersed with crystal clear warnings about anomalies that had escaped, ones I'd need to avoid. I didn't know them by number. They lingered in mind for a matter of seconds between focused, measured kicks to the door, headway to finally getting the hell out of here.

	With a crash, it came down. The clinical white walls, same-colored tiles, and fluorescent lighting made for a refreshing change of pace from my... almost exactly alike cell. It was the feeling, not the location. Bite me. The door made a metric fuck ton of sound coming down, and shattering showed in the tile along the site of impact. Yep, they were going to notice, one way or another.

	Uncaring, I was, as I marched onward. Turning right, right out of the gate. Or, uh, cell. Because, being frank, I had no fucking idea where I was going. Everything looked the same in this place. I knew I'd eventually find signs, as I'd seen them during our stints when moving between monstrosities. I lost so many friends.

	Lights moved above, tiles below, and the same doors, different numbers. All of us, numbers without names. I didn't get it, and I didn't believe I ever would. Through the hall I walked, and with nothing to think on, naught to consider except my next few steps, my mind was left to wander.

	Wandering to the thought of how I got here.

	A trifle with my wife, ending with a knife.
	Blood paints the wall, and through the halls, I met my fall.
	Sirens blared, a few shots flared, all starting with a call.

	Until those few steps carried me out of the hall of cells and into a new, unsettling place. Walls made from a dark metal, probably steel, with doors lacking knobs or other means of opening. Because, face it, in a place like this, the monsters knowing how to open doors might actually be a thing that doesn't happen. There were slots for cards, though.

	I had to turn around. The sharp ring of the alarm had curled up and shrunk into a faint drone in my ears, as I had other things to consider in that moment. Like, where the fuck I was. Thinking and walking were two tasks I was unable to handle, apparently, leaving me lost after heading down what I perceived to be a straight hall. Autopilot had worked a little too well. I attempted to retrace my steps, found myself in yet another place I hadn't been. Probably.

	First off, if I had, I would've remembered the blood. A sharper red than that of the alarm, with the edges crisping, turning brown. All spilled from bodies that littered the ground nearby, torn apart by something sharp. Something I might've met before, who knew? Eleven bodies, each one about as dead as the last. Hopefully. After hearing reference of zombie viruses from some of the staff, I wasn't too keen on the idea of one getting back up to munch on me. The wounds appeared as clean cuts, though. Nothing a zombie would do. Hopefully.

	The smell was distracting, so I lifted my shirt to cover my nose and walked on.

	"I hear... oh, I must've missed one."

	The voice. The voice, it was like a knife against glass, filtered through gravel, echoed through some feedback chamber in hell. I definitely did not like that voice. It wasn't one I could recall hearing, which could either be good or bad. I didn't want to think about which, or why.

	I just wanted to leave before things got worse.

	In an attempt to follow the instructions of the quiet little voice of reason in the back of my head, I started to slowly back up. Not. Making. A. Sound. Not taking a breath. My footsteps were silent. My chest was threatening to give way to my heart, which seemed to want to crash its way out and beat the threat to death through sheer force of adrenaline and anxiety. A bad blend when slow movement is needed.

	I gripped the boot-pillowcase-flail tightly in my hand, the other holding the shiv. If it came down to a fight, I'd die having left some scars. Some faint chance in hell could carry me to victory too. Never go over the power of chance.

	"I can hear you. You think you move with silence."

	The voice, once more with its surreal harshness, I could pin down as female. Mocking in tone, beating down with her words as if to tenderize me before the meeting. It wasn't working. Tension in my limbs made it impossible to move, almost impossible to breathe. The pressure behind my eyes threatened to fire them out like bullets, squeezed my brain until there was little room for thought, even less so for coherence.

	She spoke again, the voice carrying from beyond a few dividers in this office, so I found it to be after more than a cursory glance. Fluorescent lights flickered above on occasion, allowing vision with more than the steady, thrumming red of the emergency lighting. My eyes caught solid white pictures of a clean workspace, coffee cups, keyboards, computers, calendars, places where men and women made their wages. A blink turned it into a sight stained with red, brown, black, bodies marring the afterimage, with a set of narrow, golden needles of eyes observing me from a crimson-streaked hole torn in one of the dividers.

	"I can see you. You think you're safe in your stillness," she hissed, malice dripping from her voice like venom, hate spilling from those eyes like blood from a body cut to pieces. She must've been responsible. Never in my life had I seen something so... so furious with existence. As if she wanted me dead by virtue of me being alive. It shook my stilled limbs free, jolted my breathing back to normal, then to hyperventilation. I felt sparks flow down to my fingers, looseness in my legs, as if I could chase down and lift a car.

	Despite my newfound energy and strength, probably the fight or flight thing I heard about in undergrad bio, I stood still as a statue and waited for this creature to pad around the corner, somehow lacking sound in her movements. When she stepped out from behind the dividers, I had to manually stop my jaw from hanging like the body across the room, intestines wrapped around a light fixture.

	"You have terrible taste in decor, lady," was all I could think to say. In such a situation, I don't know why that was the first thing that came to mind, or why I decided it was wise to say. Either way, it spilled forth as a venom-ridden shotgun burst of syllables, aimed for her figurative throat. "Red's not in style anymore. Murder some smurfs or something, give the place a calm look. Blue's good for an office. Keeps things from getting too freaky."

	"The tongue on you. I'd like to taste it." Her comment, man, I wasn't sure what the hell she meant by that at all. There she stood, anyway. A hulking monstrosity, taller than myself by at least a few feet, probably some sort of lizard or something by the mottled, brown-green scales that showed where the ivory-white armor plating on her limbs and face didn't. Her eyes peered through a skull-like mask of the stuff which covered only the top half of her face, leaving the bottom jaw free. Sliding around her lips, which I assumed were there while not wanting to get close enough to check, was a long tongue, tapered and ending in a split like a snake's.

	Like she was tasting me before I was her prey. You know, I wasn't having any of that. That smug look in her eyes sparked something deep in me, set it off like an ember to black powder. So I spoke again, terse and harsh with teeth bared, "You'll have to rip it out of my skull. But you'll have to do that before I beat your own goddamned skull in."

	The prideful regard she held wavered for a moment, giving way to anger for no more than a half a second. I saw what I was dealing with as her pupils narrowed to slits, her fangs flashed, her claws flexed. A lean body, no doubt built for hunting, but I didn't want to think about what would serve as compatible, competitive prey with her. Goddamn. The armor plating extended down to her knuckles, the fronts and backs of her legs, and her chest, leaving scant scaling exposed for my viewing displeasure.

	Along her wrists and ankles, a mass of dark fur erupted, same black hue as the thick mane around her neck, the hair flowing down her head to connect with it. An oddly human notion amidst a series of beastly traits, that last bit. The fact that she had fur and hair further confused me as to exactly what the fuck she was. It even extended to her thick tail, a tuft of fluff encircling the armored lance of a tip.

	She replied in turn, baring her own threats like knives in the mind, "We both measure each other, but which of us is sure they will win, hm? You are... very small. Adorable." A single footstep erased a fifth of the space between us. "How... disgusting." Out lashed her claws, reflecting the occasional flash of white from the lights above, glowing red in the otherwise.

	Her right hand? Paw? I would consider it a hand for the sake of simplicity. It came at me from my right, almost like a hook with much more dire consequences. I dashed right before it could connect, placing myself on the other side of the path, and I took a stab at the uselessly swiping limb with my plastic shiv, only for it to break against the hard plate of her arm.

	I saw her forearm come back towards me in a sweeping motion much too fast to react, and the resulting impact took several years off my life, I'm sure, and in the current caused me to be launched into a cubicle. The small of my back hit a wooden desk, and it didn't give like in the movies; no, it felt like being hit with a solid wooden desk. No breath remained in my lungs for the next few seconds, and I felt something moving around back there that probably should have been.

	The sharp sting in my left arm worried me. It was all red, felt all tingly, and I knew something was fucked the moment I had instinctively brought it up to defend myself. My life had been saved by that reaction, sure, but it likely prolonged whatever hell I had carved out for myself in whatever remained of my life.

	I looked up, saw her looking right back down at me. So, so high up there. "Pitiful," she growled. Absolutely a taunt to me, meant for repayment for my mistake of challenging her. What else was I to have done, though? Run and hide? I would've been chased to the end of my life, definitely.

	A lancing lash from the left came right for my skull. I had noticed her winding up beforehand, and let myself slide down to the floor before they could find purchase in the important pieces of my head. I ended up slamming my sore fucking back against some shit that had fallen off the desk, but yet again, better that than dead.

	Next came her right foot, to which I replied by rolling off of the shit and kicking the limb as it came down, heel planted against the center of her lower leg's side. It somehow put her off balance, necessitating the use of her hands to steady herself as I leaped out of the cubicle. Freedom, again.

	Behind me, the shit came down. Literally, I heard the entire section of cubicles crashing to pieces from her falling across them. Her foot must have hit the pile of papers, tech, and tools just right, sending the attempted stomp careening away from, well, the down direction. Without proper traction from either the floor or my fucking corpse, there was little stopping her from sliding on the shit, and the dividers didn't hold up. The result? The whole thing went to pieces in a moment of crystal clarity from my fucking brain working overtime. Something would overheat up there, I had been sure. In the now, it had helped.

	I had the advantage here, a fact that took me too fucking long to realize. I was small, reacted quickly, and was using the square cube law to make this motherfucker my bitch. A few marks on my scoreboard against the ten or so she had with all the natural armors, weapons, what have you.

	Her going topsy-turvy provided precious seconds to act further. I pressed this advantage by rushing her fallen body and stealing away a chunk of the fallen desk... a metal reinforcement with a large splinter of wood at the end, two feet long and not an inch beyond. My savior was shiny, but not chrome. Sure, it was rusty, and though I doubted the usefulness of tetanus on my foe in the heat of battle, I didn't question the dutiful application of metal and sharp bits to a foe in a fight.

	I noted her golden eyes out the corner of my own right before the blur of her rapidly closing jaws, but those fangs only met steel as I shifted backwards, swung my weapon like a bat to a baseball. The slight crunch, the stop and give of the impact, it threatened to jolt my grip free. Instead, my knuckles went white as I pulled back and slammed it across her face once more. The armor shattered, leaving half her face naked; her expression turned to naught but sheer fury, no shard of rationality left in those eyes.

	From below, her clenched fist arose to greet my chin. My overextended stance provided little in the way of reaction ability, leaving me to take the full force of a train to my jaw. I fell flat on my ass after losing grip on the metal pole, legs like jelly after the strike. Goddamn, she hit me like a champion boxer.

	Buzzing was all that occupied the inside of my probably-cracked cranium in those seconds after, while panicked gasps confirmed the continuing function of my lungs. Yes, I was still alive. For a few minutes further? Maybe. Old age was the lowest entry on the "list of threats to my life" I had established in my head when I was younger. I had some dark spots in my youth, don't think anything weird.

	I did manage to catch her gloating, though. One of my eyelids wasn't holding up, so I peered out of one eye at her. That toothy maw twisted into some semblance of a smile, yet I felt little cheer from her presence. The fact that she wanted to murder me was liable to hold responsibility for that. That rough voice, unpleasant beyond thought, spoke at no higher than a whisper.

	"I have you."

	Her breath was blood in the air, metallic and choking. I couldn't draw my own despite my lungs burning. Once again, I was frozen. No fight, no flight, just her body lowering itself over my own. I wasn't planning to die there, though.

	Before she could touch down, I managed to force myself free of my petrifying fear. Those terrible eyes, I forced myself to stare at them. I saw death, and I wasn't prepared. Feeling came back to my limbs, my jaw set like steel, and my resolve was found again. As she collapsed where I had been, I curled up and launched myself backwards, rolling, bashing my head on the cold tile thrice before I fell into a loose crouch. A mirror would've shown me an animal, had I looked into one. Yet again, the creature in front of me caught nothing but air.

	"You had me." The words felt like lightning as I spoke to my own reassurance and her chagrin. I glanced to my side, found the pole, grasped it firmly in my right hand. Long since had I dropped the pillowcase thing in favor of something functional. It sat useless near the doorway, boot fallen out, fabric laying next to a dead man. I wouldn't be among them.

	Crashing steps carried her into a charge, claws held to either side to prevent me from dodging. She had learned a lesson since last time. Hell, that bulk would've crushed me, moving at that speed. My options were few and far between. If she pinned me against the wall, it was over. A grapple would end up with me dead. A good cut across me with those claws, I'd be little more than fajitas.

	Already, a reaction had formed in mind. I waited for the second it'd take her to close in to pass, and as she brought her hands towards me as I had expected, I swung my weapon at her right forearm, shattering the armor there, and crouched in the same time. The wind off her left ran through my hair. Narrowly, death had passed me over. God. A step to the left moved me out of the path of her charge, and she collided with the wall with enough speed to send cracks out in a massive radius.

	Something glinted behind me as the lights flickered again, and a sudden, searing pain erupted from my right ankle. I shifted my weight to my left as best as I could, and held steady. Blood was pouring from several parts of me, I realized. Everything felt cold and warm at the same time, but I still stood. My arms and legs were stark, deep red against each picture-like flash of the lights above. Yet, I stood.

	"One of us is going to end up dead, you know!" I screamed, charged, brought my bat down against her tail as a reward for her movement like fucking molasses. I saw sparks, bright against the barely functioning hazard lights, noted a dent in the weapon and a bloody mess at the site of the strike's landing. Bones shattered, muscle squirming to try and move what isn't there anymore.

	She hissed something fierce, like rocks in a blender, and I knew that she'd be doubling down on those lethal blows. I'd put as many of my own into her as I could before I would fall, though. There were no more smug, sly words from here on out, not from her. Only eyes hollow of feeling, save for an incredible intent to kill; I matched them in turn, but mine came with a smile. I had nothing to lose, everything to gain. I was a dead man walking.

	And then we stood, facing each other.

	I was some fucking guy with a makeshift bat, fighting for my life.

	She was some unknown beast hunting for sport, so it appeared.

	Could've called me the most dangerous game, I suppose. I was keeping up, wearing her down. I thought so, until I noted her tail writhing on the floor, and where it had been smashed in half, it was reattached with bare, bloody tissue. An unsettling sight in general, especially from something I wanted dead. Regeneration.

	"Fuck."

	She dove at me, and I found it rather incredible how I saw her move before she was... moving. I had stumbled to her left before she landed, empty-handed for the umpteenth time. Then came her claws, which I brought my bat up to block. Sparks flew from the sharp of her swipe nearly cleaving my weapon in half. It was in two shreds, now. Two... sharp shreds. With not-really-sharp ends. That I could grab.

	I pulled the pieces apart, had one in each hand, now armed with two very pointy things. This would last for a few attempted attacks, and she would learn. For some stubborn reason, I refused to stop. Her next attack came as a series of punches interspersed with snapping jaws.

	One came for my face, so I ducked, thrust my weapon up and heaved backwards. It tore her hand open, soaked my arm with what might've been blood, if not for the odd, dark shade. I didn't know what color it was. Next came a hook from her left, I dodged into it, ran my weapon against her arm, and it opened up as well. After those, the attacks blurred together and it was all I could to to keep walking backwards, just so I didn't become ground burger person meat. Words. They're hard.

	Then, my back hit the wall. At just about the same time, shit hit the fan. She spread her arms and stood over me. I went for her chest, intent to carve it up like a turkey, and several slices into her flesh later I found no response. Sure, I did find guts and other important bits, but it was like... she didn't care anymore.

	"We're done," she said, as if to accentuate the idea. That tone was... much less furious than expected. A definite departure from what I had expected of someone who had been bashed and flayed like her. Her hands came off the walls, latched onto my arms, and held them with a steel-strong, yet... gentle grip? My hands were pulled from her body, and with them, my implements of defense. I couldn't do anything but watch as she wrenched my arms apart, wince as the pain forced them open. The metal clattered against the ground, and with it, my hopes of living through this.

	All the pain and exhaustion caught up with me, which when paired with the idea of being without a hope of freedom, my initial plans dashed, left me without an actual reason to keep going. It all really just... went dark.

	My vision was cloudy, but my thoughts were clear as polished glass. I could see the sky through it, old memories framed in a window. I couldn't move, I didn't know what was happening. The future and present were smoke, the past was stone. I could grasp the solid, use it as a handhold to keep afloat in whatever I was sinking into.

	What a thing, the past was, unable to be changed despite my greatest efforts. Everything is defined, clear in hindsight.

	My mind worked backwards from the pictures.

	Arriving here. Moving to a different prison. Being placed in a room in prison. A final court date. A funeral. Another court date. A few days in jail. The flashing lights of an ambulance. A ride in the back of a police car. An officer telling me to stand down. Standing inside my house, shocked.

	All backwards.

	Warmth spread into my limbs as I woke up. The mild agony that had shot through my limbs before wasn't there anymore, somehow. I was fucking grateful, sure, but confused. My little ray of attention gradually spread as my eyes opened, and I soon had more to be questioning. The feeling of smooth, lukewarm skin against my own. A tickling of fur against the back of my head and my chest. A lack of metal in the air, the smell of dried blood, made me feel a bit safer, sure.

	Then, my eyes opened completely.

	"You're awake," the lizard-like beast whispered, her mouth way too close to my own. Across her armored muzzle were the points of several fangs poking out from what I would've called her lips? I didn't know if reptiles had lips, though. She was smiling, though. A far cry from her earlier mood, bloodthirsty as all get the fuck out and wanting to tear me apart. That face of hers still forced my heart to the point of near-fucking-explosion, though. She must've seen that in my face, and in reply said, "Stop. Don't try anything."

	"Why the hell shouldn't I?" I asked, voice high from my state of being afraid, raspy from a lot of fucking screaming, probably. "You were just trying to fucking kill me!"

	Despite her warnings, I still tried to break free, only to note the fact that nothing was fucking happening. My arms were pinned beneath my body, and hers was on mine. Not crushing me, but also enough to keep me from... doing anything but shouting incessantly, really. The last option I had was to get her talking, so I went ahead with the second question on my list. "Okay, say you aren't going to turn me into an in-fucking-season color for the office across the hall here." I still couldn't see past her, leaving me with little clue as to where the hell we were. "Why?"

	"What?" she asked.

	"Of all the fucking people," I began again, "Why me? Why the fuck am I here?"

	Tangible silence hung in the inch between our faces before she answered, "You are the most suitable sapient in this area."

	"What?" No fucking inkling of what she meant made its way into my head. I was still running on fuck-all when it came to knowing what the hell was happening here. "No, really, what?"

	"You fought. You fought well within your means, and you managed to stay alive for more than a minute," she explained in a voice much less hostile than I had expected from her. She continued, eyes full of some distant warmth, "Unlike the others, you are a suitable mate."

	Okay what the actual goddamned fuck. My face must've been priceless. When I spoke, my voice was high and cracking to pieces from disbelief and absolute terror. "W-what?" Yeah, I was a goddamned parrot at that point. "What the fu- okay do- are- you wanna fuck me?"

	"I want your seed. I want very little to do with you, but you are the container in which your seed is stored. I will end your life when we finish."

	I hadn't expected that. The whole thing about me dying after it all wasn't a surprise, but the fucking bit, yeah. That had blindsided me. I felt like that one "what" guy from Pulp Fiction, except I'd be raped instead of shot. I took my sweet fucking time answering with, "C-can we skip the whole 'dying' part, y'know, because you're already going to sort of fucking, I don't know, rape me? How's about we ditch this shithole and I go home after knocking you up, that sound spiffy enough for you?"

	The gears were ticking in her head, or she was just staring me down. One or the other. I certainly had time to consider the sort of deal I had just made. I'd fuck her, she'd let me go, I'd escape, she'd probably escape, we'd both live.

	As much as I wanted to live, I was awfully hesitant to stick my dick in a goddamned lizard. Really, I had figured that this was my life now, though. With her staring me down like I'd shat in her cornflakes and slapped her grandmother, it was rather hard to keep my composure. I started laughing.

	"What a disgusting sound," she hissed, pushing down harder with her right hand. I felt something shift out of place in my shoulder, and was quickly reminded of a high school incident involving jumping off the top of the bleachers for a few dollars. "Stop. I've considered your offer. I don't see why you may not be allowed to survive." I was conflicted about this information, finding myself worrying when she added, "Now that I have your scent, I can find you in the case that I want more."

	Excuse me.

	I had already decided that fucking was better than dying, though, so I replied, "Sure. Fuck it. Fuck me. I... really don't care anymore. Just fuckin' let me out whenever you're done."

	Something strangled seeped out from that forced smirk of hers, which I assumed to be a laugh, followed by her asking, "So... you want to escape as well... would you consider the thought of leaving this place with me? I guarantee your survival if you guarantee my progeny."

	God, what? "Deal?" In the future, I had asked myself many times why I made that decision so quickly. "I guess? Fuck, it's better than dying." I kept repeating that to myself, hoping it to be true. The pleading in my head grew louder as she cut the cloth of my prisoner getup with a massive claw. Oddly, she took massive care in doing so. Probably because ripping my dick and also balls off would end with no mutant rapechild and me screaming very loudly for the five seconds I hadn't passed out from shock.

	Y'know, fun thoughts. Sometimes, I thought there was something really wrong with me.

	I felt the cold claw brush against my crotch, and flinched, fearing for my fucking life. As one does when being compelled to bang some massive dragon-woman-thing that also killed like thirty people beforehand. In sharp contrast to the harsh berating I was expecting for being a weakling, I felt her other hand slip beneath my own and close around it. It was more shocking than having my clothing ripped off, really, that act of reassurance.

	Within a careful half-minute of held breath, suppressed squirming, and the occasional huffs of her frustration, my pants were cleaved off and left to my side, same as my undergarments. The floor was still cold as hell, uncomfortable and hard on my bare ass. A minor complaint within the context of recent events, sure.

	"So, that is... your organ?" she asked, eyeing my limp dick. Yeah, it wasn't impressive. A shower I was not. An honest look of confusion spread across her mug like blood on the walls before. And that comparison made me realize just how much this had impacted me. Either way, she was... watching me for any reaction.

	To be frank, I had no precedent to act on here, and laid there just as confused as her. "It's my, uh, it's my dick, yeah. Penis? Whatever you want to call it with your... speech." Had I always been this awkward with women?

	The thought lingered on my mind for the second between its introduction and her bringing the side of a claw up along the underside of my dick. It was slow and careful, much like the rest of her behavior towards me lately, and... it gave me chills. A rush of tingling feedback ran down my limbs, up the back of my neck. She seemed to notice this, and breathed out a sigh of warm air onto my crotch, her face too close to my sensitive bits for comfort. Her tongue lashed out of her mouth to run along her lips again, while her hand traveled up my regretfully hardening length. Somehow, those razor-like claws weren't tearing my flesh apart.

	No, the whole ordeal became quite sensual in a short span of time, with my nervous twitching threatening to bring a premature end to it all. Dying of blood loss before a spot of sex, just how I wanted to go.

	Alas, she was more careful than I expected, using slow, drawn out strokes to prime me for use, as she'd probably say. The lukewarm scales of her fingers and palm, smooth and slightly tacky, were contrasted by the cold, rough feel of her claws, and I experienced both as she brought a slight twisting motion into the act. A threatening smile spilled across her expression. "You will be ready soon."

	Not even a question. A statement. An inevitability. I'd accepted it by this rate.

	I hadn't expected her mouth to close around my dick, though. Maybe lost in thought, I was, which allowed her the opportunity to slide her jaws down around my growing, nervous boner without interruption. Almost like getting a shot. Except, well... a lot better, to be frank. She had stopped holding me down, so I was free to run my hands along the fur on her head, to press myself deeper into that gently nibbling maw, whose tongue was currently spiraling around my cock at the moment.

	Her lips met the base of my crotch as an awkward kiss when I hilted myself in her face with a slight groan. Already, I was close, and... her tongue tightened around the base of my dick, but remained wrapped around my entire length like a boa constrictor. Then, it slowly slid upwards as the pleasure wore down, sending my orgasm back home without that last nudge to take it otherwise.

	Damnit.

	"You're enjoying this," she said, leaving no question to it again. She had pulled away from me last second, leaving my satisfaction as dust in the wind, just to taunt me. "Tell me you'd like to continue."

	Goddamnit. "No shit, I'd very much like you to keep sucking my dick, yeah. You seem to have an understanding of how this works, what the-"

	I was caught off guard by her hard "lips" pressing against my own, the slightest distance between our eyes and the hungry look in hers, the slight taste of metal on her tongue as it slipped between my defenses and wrestled my tongue into submission. I felt her jaws shift, her lips go taught, and noted the little fucking glimmer in her eye while she roughly had a sample taste of me. A little bit of fear had made its presence known in the pit of my stomach, most definitely.

	Still... it took my breath, the passion, false or not, behind this continued kiss. Her hand pulled away from mine and moved to push against the back of my head, a gentle encouragement and a reminder of my lack of choice in the matter, but still an action that calmed me, for some reason, as I traded spit with this creature. I found myself working my mouth against hers, enjoying the kiss after enough time, and returned the favor she'd given me by wandering about her maw, indulging in the odd, half-warm touch of hers.

	This kept on for I don't know how fucking long. A few minutes into it, I believe, I felt her shift her weight, and then she pulled me on top of her while our lips were still locked, leaving me resting atop her massive build. She was... weirdly comfortable, plush but firm, and the softness of her fur, wherever it was, I thought close to a good, warm blanket. I don't know why. Quickly enough to distract from that line of thought, the cold feeling of her other hand's claws returned to my dick, tailed by the slick contact of her scales. Full of surprises, this one.

	Her hand worked me like an instrument beneath the fingers of a decades-practiced musician, drawing away softly, pushing back tighter, giving me something to work with. My hips were going without my say, really, as... I was really pent up, you know? Being in this place killed any sexually charged thoughts, that was for sure. They all came back full force here, and I let myself go. I mean, shit, I had no choice, so I just reveled in it for the while.

	Sooner than later, I hated to admit, the show came to an end.

	The pun was unintentional. Fuck off.

	My breathing ran ragged, my body shivered with each draw and push of her hand, and... I hadn't been prepared for her to shift her body, for her hand to slip away and deny what I had given up my pride to seek. Again. It was almost a burning feeling now, something I needed finished. "C-come on now, damnit, what the fuck are you doing?"

	She smiled, smiled to the best of her capability, and slid her legs around mine, pushed my body down, one hand on my ass, the other still on the back of my head. Some part of me knew to push right back, and... I was inside of her. I'll say that she... wasn't nearly as cold or alien as I'd expected. Her body was warm, her slit was much, much more so. I'd almost forgotten this feeling through this imprisonment.

	It was moist, drew me in, wrested the pleasure right back out of me, and threatened to bring me right over the edge within seconds. Her thighs squeezed around my body, her legs locked behind mine, not letting me have any say in the matter. What protests hung on the tip of my tongue were silenced when she shoved my head into her collarbone, face resting against the soft, warm fur surrounding her neck. It smelled like fresh earth with a hint of something floral, the reasons for which I didn't understand. "To soothe your nerves," she answered, as if she had read my mind.

	I accepted it for what it was and let her have me. What had started a while ago as a hesitant, faint feeling quickly built into that ever-present need to finish, that want for more, and I could not control myself. Being denied a climax twice will do that to you. So, I laid atop her, held close, rutting against her while she spurred me on, her legs shoving my body up with enough force to shake my entire body. Each push was greeted with a smooth entry, a blooming warmth, and each departure was resistance, just enough to make it difficult but... so rewarding to keep going. Our bodies kissed, danced, bounced, quaked, and... sighed as I felt the end arrive.

	One last push, my body firmly against hers, with me so deep inside of her, and I finished with what had to be the most explosive climax I'd ever had. A shooting pleasure rushed out to my tip, then it echoed right back up my spine, jolted against the back of my head. Then, heat, a warm feeling leaked into my limbs, the fight disappearing. I was done. She held me for what felt like an hour, still inside of her, leaving me to catch slow breaths through her mane while her claws lazily dragged across my back, leaving marks that wouldn't bear scars, I was sure. No pain arose with such care taken to avoid harm, and I didn't attempt to wrestle out of her grasp, either.

	"You did well. I can feel it. I'm... full," she said, voice low, relaxed. "We leave soon. Put your clothes back on."

	Right. We still had to get out of here.

	Fuck.