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“You ready to apologise to Papa, little girl?”
Shuddering in the futile pursuit of a long-denied climax, you swallow thickly and turn your head to look at the clown, your limbs straining to hold your body up, threatening to give way beneath your weight and send you sprawling forward on to the filthy mattress. Behind you, his gloved hands stroking across your hips and the tilted curve of your ass, Pennywise fixes you with a hard stare, his blue eyes gleaming with violent promises. Oh, you know that look all too well, and you know that you should be begging his forgiveness right now, pleading for mercy, but it won’t make a difference if you submit to him. The clown has been edging you for hours, toying with your body, teasing your dripping core with feather-light touches. He likes tormenting you, he likes it when you’re a bad little pet, because it gives him an excuse to punish you like this. And you like it too, you love acting out and being chastised for it, because you have a defiant streak a mile long and you relish the rare opportunity to indulge in it.
Still, you can’t help but feel a tiny flicker of doubt, of fear, when you see the harsh twist of his red lips, the little quirk of one black eyebrow in your direction, and you turn away and bow your head, silently cursing yourself for not having the sense to cave, to give in to him.
You must have a death wish or something, because you’re opening your mouth again before you’ve even thought about what you’re going to say, and just like that, you’ve sealed your fate with one word, and you just know that the clown’s going to make you pay for it.
“No.”
Your voice comes out in a petulant huff, your lips curling into a sullen pout, even though you’re trembling and sweating, your eyes wide with shock at your own stupidity.
Shit. Me and my big fucking mouth.
Pennywise growls, his razor-sharp fingertips sinking into your hips, leaving bruises and shallow gouges in their wake. He takes his time, dragging out your torment, feeding on your pain and savouring each little wince and moan, and then he draws away, giving you a moment to just breathe, to fill your starving lungs with air, before he brings his hand down on your ass, landing an almighty slap against one up-turned cheek.
Again and again, over and over, until your ass is on fire, the tender skin laced with welts and livid hand-prints, flushed pink and red to match your burning face, and the loud smack of his palm against your flesh echoes around the shadowy walls of the lair.
You let out a squeak, twisting beneath the blows, but you resist the impulse to move away, not wanting to make things any worse for yourself. Biting down on your lip to keep from crying out again, you brace your limbs and raise your head, straightening your spine out, determined to hold your nerve, to play the game and play it well.
After an eternity, the blows peter out, and Pennywise slides his hands across your abused flesh with an appreciative hum, the raw sting of his touch bringing a sharp hiss to your parted lips. Chuckling darkly, he reaches out to curl his fingers into your hair, his claws snagging within your tousled locks, and then he grasps you hard and forces your head back, his hips rutting into the swell of your backside as he leans forward to nip at your earlobe, whispering violent promises and obscene endearments in that rasping voice.
“Oho, your sweet little ass is gonna hurt for days, babydoll.” Pennywise croons your name, dipping his pelvis to grind the hard line of his cock between your thighs, laughing cruelly when you arch beneath him and press back to meet his shallow thrusts. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, yanking at your head, smirking when you let out a yelp of protest at the sudden pain shooting across your neck and shoulders, “And when it starts to ease up, you’re gonna forget all about it…that is, until you sit down and it starts to hurt again, and then you’ll remember this, you’ll remember who owns your ass, and maybe you’ll think twice before you sass Papa again.”
You whimper piteously, tossing your head, and Pennywise clicks his tongue at you in mock-sympathy, dropping his free hand to stroke across your heaving ribcage, “Poor little pet, you’re hurtin’ bad, huh? Yeah, Papa’s being a mean old clown tonight, isn’t he?” He shifts over you, draping himself across your back, dragging his tongue across the underside of your clenched jaw, his voice rumbling with repressed laughter, “You like it though, don’t ya? No? Oh, I think you do, baby. Otherwise you wouldn’t keep actin’ the brat and flaunting that little ass around here, just begging to be put over my knee…”
You shake your head, letting out a plaintive whine when he moves away, peppering kisses along the length of your spine before settling behind you again, nudging his knees against your ankles to force your legs further apart. Huffing out his name, you arch your back, propping yourself up on your elbows and spreading your thighs, exposing the slick opening of your pudenda, dusky pink and dripping with your own arousal. The clown gives your ass another slap, chuckling when you cry out in pain and jerk away from him, and then he catches hold of your hip with one hand and slides the other between your legs, grasping your cunt roughly and sinking his fingers into you, hilted to the last knuckle in your yielding flesh. You hiss out an obscenity, pushing back against him, and he pistons his fingers back and forth, smirking at the loud squelch of your hole around his plundering digits.
“If you really didn’t like it, you wouldn’t be so fucking wet for me, would ya? Geez, you’re such a messy girl, {y/n}.”
Pennywise twists his hand, thrusting his fingers into you, faster and deeper, until you’re panting and whining like a bitch in heat, your juices running over his knuckles and coating the white silk of his glove. Oh, you’re so close, so fucking close, but the old bastard knows it and he keeps you there, hanging over the precipice, giving you just enough to make your toes curl and your eyes water, but not enough to send you over the edge. You whimper for more, your breath coming in a shrill gasp, your hips rocking wildly as you chase your climax. It’s brutal, the way he punches his fingers into your cunt, fucking you open with deep strokes; it’s almost painful, bittersweet and savage, but you’re too far gone to care.
“Yeah, that’s it, that’s my babydoll.” Pennywise’s voice is lazy with pleasure, amused and indulgent. His free hand strokes your rump, soothing away the sting of his blows, and he coos your name, sliding his fingers out of your cunt to trace circles across your quivering thighs, “My naughty little slut. What are you?” His fingertips ghost over your slick folds, his voice dropping an octave as he teases you, purring in his chest and sending a frisson of lust through your core, “C’mon, Papa needs to hear it.”
You crane your neck to look at him, hooding your eyes and letting out a husky moan for his benefit, your face burning beneath the steady weight of his gaze, “I’m Pennywise’s slut.” He favours you with a sly grin, sliding his palms over your tilted backside and pressing both thumbs into the downy cleft to tug your cheeks apart, exposing your asshole and the gleaming wetness of your slit beneath it. You let out a squeak, wriggling in his grasp, trying to nudge his fingers into your cunt again, “I’m your slut, Papa. Only yours, forever and ever.”
You’ve pleased him; the clown’s red smile is more than enough praise for you, and oh, the insistent press of two digits held flush against your clit is a fitting reward for your shameless self-abasement. Moaning his name, you tilt your pelvis to rub down against his fingers, trying to spark some friction from his touch, and he chuckles at your desperation, leaning forward to graze his teeth between your shoulder-blades, “Yeah, you’re my filthy little fuck-toy, aren’t ya?”
You murmur your assent, losing the ability to form coherent words as you feel your climax edging into focus again, the pressure between your legs building to an impossible peak, blurring your vision and constricting your chest. Pennywise isn’t finished with you, though. He drops his hand from your cunt, laughing with cruel amusement when you let out an indignant yelp at the sudden loss of his fingers, “And what else, pet? What else?”
He shifts behind you, grinding against your ass, letting you feel the thickness of his cock between your parted thighs. You push back to meet his steady thrusts, your legs trembling with each strained movement, and it’s all you can to keep from sobbing, from begging and pleading, as you finally swallow your pride and give in to him, reeling off an apology in a frantic rush of words.
“A-and…oh fuck…and I’m sorry, Papa. I’m s-sorry for sassing you, and for being a b-brat, and I won’t…shit…I won’t do it ever again, Pen, I p-promise!”
“Oh, but you will, babydoll. I know you will.” Pennywise chuckles, dragging a taloned thumb over the cleft of your ass, and then he slides his hand over your back and ribcage, caressing your sweat-sheened skin. He shifts slightly, the ancient mattress springs creaking beneath his weight, and your eyes go saucer-wide when you hear the familiar pop of buttons, one by one, as he opens the crotch of his costume and draws his cock into the open. He smirks at your reaction, at the sudden stiffness of your spine beneath his questing hand, sensing your excitement, “Because you want this, don’t ya? You want to be punished, you want Papa to beat your little ass and fuck you raw…”
The clown presses forward again, dragging his length over your melting core, grinding his shaft across your clit until you see stars, and then he bucks sharply against you, without warning, dipping the head of his cock into your wet warmth. You give a keening moan, your fingers bunching into the mattress, and Pennywise rolls his hips against your ass, sighing blissfully at the tight squeeze of your inner muscles around him, “Yes, oh yes, baby girl. This is what you want, isn’t it? Papa’s fat dick splitting your pussy open. You crave it…”
He sets a violent pace from the get-go, forcing his pulsing thickness into your unfurling heat, his cock hammering against your cervix like a battering ram, his fingers sinking into the swell of your ass, gloved thumbs pressing into your hipbones, holding you in position as he fucks you into oblivion. You’re so pent-up, so ready and wild for him, and you can hardly stand the pain-pleasure of this sudden assault, after he’s kept you for so long. Limbs buckling, mouth gaping open in a silent scream, you drop your torso to the mattress, burying your face into the filthy padding, but he clicks his tongue in disapproval and twines his fingers into your hair again, using both hands to rein your head back and force you up on to your elbows.
“Awwww, what’s wrong, doll? You’re all tired out, huh?” Pennywise tsks at you, twisting his fingers deeper into your hair, levering your head back and forth in time with his harsh thrusts. He’s fucking into you so hard that your entire body shakes with each pounding stroke, your tits swinging and slapping together between your straining arms, your ass jiggling like jell-o pudding, jolted by the bruising pressure of his pelvis. The clown shifts over you, still thrusting, his tongue flickering out to wet the inner shell of your ear as he taunts you in a hissing whisper, “Well, that’s too fucking bad, sweetheart. You started this little game, baby, and you’re gonna see it through to the end.”
He moves away again, smacking both hands against your ass before driving relentlessly into you, fucking into your throbbing cunt, until you feel as though he’s about to rip you open around his cock. You let out a weak cry, dropping clumsily to one elbow and sliding your free hand down over your stomach, your fingers stuttering desperately across your clit, your pinkie brushing across the underside of his shaft, where it’s buried inside the slick spread of your folds. Sweat beads upon your forehead, trickling down to sting your eyes, and you let out an impatient huff, panting and blowing as you rub frantic circles over your hood, rolling your clit beneath your fingers.
So fucking close.
Pennywise reaches beneath you to slap your hand away, smirking at your strangled cries of frustration, at your face when you reel back to glare at him, your features twisted into a wounded expression, “None of that, baby. We’re only just gettin’ started here.” Ignoring your whimpering pleas, he tugs at your hair, forcing you to arch your back, to press your ass against the jut of his hips, his cock anchored deep within your twitching heat, “Only bad little girls cum without permission, babydoll. Oho, Papa can play this game all night long, so you’re just gonna have to wait for it, like a good little fuck-pet…”
He releases his grasp on your hair and shifts against you, rolling his hips at an almost leisurely pace now, teasing you, stoking the heat in your pelvis from a tinder-spark into an inferno. Oh, it’s maddening, his cruelty and his spite, the way he plays your body like a finely tuned instrument, but you need him, you need the pleasure that only he can give you.
“Penny…ahhh fuck…please…Papa, please let me cum…” You sink forward to bury your face into the mattress, pleading in a hoarse voice, chanting the words like a mantra, a mindless prayer to an uncaring eldritch god, “Please…it hurts…oh, please…”
Pennywise purrs in response, rocking into you, his hands gliding over your back, “Geez, I love it when you beg for me, babydoll. Can’t deny you a damn thing when you sound like that, all broken and blue, like you’re about to lose your fucking mind…” He picks up the pace again, excited by your distress, grunting and sweating over you as he works for his own release, his claws extending to drag bloody lines across your quivering shoulders. For a moment, you think he’s going to finish without you, but then he lets out a wry chuckle and slides a hand beneath your torso, grasping at the peak of one hanging breast to give the nipple a sharp tug, before dropping his hand to curl his fingers over your mound. You start against him, your breath coming in a panting whine, humping against his open palm as he toys with your clit. He ruts against you, filling your cunt with his cock, rolling and pinching your clit in time with his thrusts, until you let out a keening wail and clamp down around his shaft, milking him with your inner muscles. You cum forever, screaming until your throat is raw, your climax thundering through your blood, through your heart, melting the wildfire in your loins into a pool of molten gold between your thighs. Pennywise growls your name, clawing at your back and your ass, ramming his cock against your cervix, his rasping voice rising to a roar as your cunt twitches around him, “Atta girl, gooood babydoll, so fucking good…” He bears down over you, settling his weight across your back, planting both hands on the mattress, coaxing a second orgasm from you as he surges into you again, “Yeah, that’s it, cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock, squirt for me. Sweet little bird, singing so prettily for Papa…”
Yes, you’re a bird, a little bird in a gilt cage.
You’re his pet, he’s clipped your wings and he won’t ever let you go, won’t set you free, but you don’t care. You’d rather be trapped here, trapped in his cage than fly free, because he makes you soar higher than your tiny wings could ever take you.
You close your eyes, gasping out the dying throes of your climax, your juices trickling over the seam of your thighs to puddle between your aching knees. Behind you, the clown gives one last shallow thrust, growling in an alien tongue as he coats your insides with his seed, and then he’s pushing you down on to the mattress, collapsing your body beneath his bulk and rolling you into his arms. Sighing wearily, you sink into his embrace, nuzzling against his chest like a sleepy kitten, and he rumbles out your name, stroking his hands across your heaving ribcage. You’re utterly spent, exhausted by his demands, but you can feel his cock pulsing against you, caught flush between the tight press of your bodies, hot and heavy and already hard again. At this stage in your strange relationship with Pennywise, you’ve come to expect this of him; you’re used to his ridiculous libido, his otherworldly stamina, but you’re still a little surprised that he’s ready to go again, especially after such a vigorous session. He’s well aware of your physical limitations, the fragility of your human body, and he shows you some consideration, cosseting and pampering you after he’s put you through your paces, but your welfare is not his priority tonight, it seems.
Wriggling in his lap, you tilt your chin to meet his gaze, your lips parted in a silent question…and the sight of his face sends a thrill of horror through you, chilling you to the bones. His white features are contorting, the muscles shifting beneath the skin, and his eyes are blazing with some eldritch light, searing through you, almost bright enough to burn their image into your retinas, into the red shadows behind your eyelids.
“Pen?” He comes alive at the sound of your voice, his claws sinking into your hips, and then he rolls you beneath him again, hoisting your trembling legs over his shoulders. You squirm beneath him, beating your fists against his chest in a futile attempt to push him away, “Penny, stop it, let me go…”
The clown snarls at you, dragging his length over your mound, his hips jolting back and forth, “Oho, you’re in for it now, {y/n}. Fuck…” His voice is distorted, tight and choked, as though he’s trying to hold something back, fighting the primal instinct that has suddenly overwhelmed him, overriding any lingering affection or compassion that he has for you, “It’s my heat cycle, babydoll. Didn’t think it was gonna happen this time around…” You goggle up at him, struggling to process his words, and then you smell it, the earthy musk of his arousal, but it’s deeper now, stronger, rank and thick in the air. It makes you think of the rancid stench of the Derry landfill in the height of summer, of soil after a storm, of stags in rut, of an old bull-elephant covering his prize cow, trumpeting his victory to the rest of the herd. Pennywise leans forward to grind against you, his breath bellowing in his chest, “Can’t stop, not until it’s over, not until I’ve filled you…”
“Wait…what? Pen, what the fuck are you talking about, I don’t…I don’t understand…” You let out a squeak and slap at his shoulder again, but your cunt is already aching for him, contracting at the sound of his rasping voice, your thighs quivering around him, and you grip at his forearms, caught between fear and desire. Before you have a chance to speak again, he’s pushing into you, spearing you on his cock, the raw sting of your muscles bringing a pained whimper to your lips, “What…oh shit…what are you doing, Pen? Let me go, you fucking asshole!”
He fucks into you, forcing his cock into your abused hole, seemingly oblivious to your sobbing curses and the blows you rain down on his shoulders. But you know that you can’t fight him, you can’t stop him, and so you surrender to the brutal rhythm, to his need for you, to the heat flowing between your entwined bodies. He keeps going until you’re squirting again, covering his cock in your juices, and then he fills you, shooting his seed into your womb with a howling cry. You let out a weak mewl, sinking back against the mattress, but it’s not over, not yet. The clown pulls out of you and rolls you over, positioning your limp frame on all-fours again, and then he’s sinking into your wetness for a third time, curling himself over your back and humping against you, his tongue lolling from his mouth, his eyes rolling back into his skull.
You sag forward, unable to hold your own weight, let alone his, and he curls his big hands beneath you, supporting your body as he fucks you open with deep strokes. Draped in the clown’s arms, hanging from the end of his cock like a broken fleshlight, you let him have his way with you, whimpering and moaning as he pounds into you from behind. Snarling and howling, he fills you again and again, over and over, until you’re dripping cum with each brief withdrawal of his cock, your thighs slick and sticky with it, your cunt brimming over with his essence.
After an eternity, Pennywise uncoils your legs from around him and settles you on to the mattress, on your back, and then he moves between your legs again, sliding into the messy ruin of your cunt. You’re so full, sore and bleeding, but you spread your thighs for him without hesitation, swept away on a relentless tide of pain-pleasure. He looms over you, savagely beautiful in the throes of his heat, and you gaze up at him, your pupils blown, saliva dripping from your gaping mouth to pool in the hollow of your throat. You can feel yourself drifting away, your vision blurring at the corners as you start to black-out, but he grasps a handful of your hair and forces you to look at him, to look into his eyes, that unearthly glow warming you from the crown of your head to the soles of your feet.
“You’ve done so well, pretty thing.” The clown seems to be coming down, regaining his composure with each burst of cum he releases into your wrecked body, and you twine your arms around his shoulders, basking in his praise and the glorious beauty of his inner light, his deadlights. He leans forward to brush his lips across your brow, his hips juddering wildly within the loose cradle of your thighs, “Almost there, {y/n}. Oho, you’re such a good little pet, such a perfect mate for Papa…”
You shift beneath him, your eyes wide with fright and shock when you feel the base of his cock flaring open beneath you, pulsing and growing, the thick bulge pressing against your slick folds.
It’s a knot.
The dim realisation sparks a sudden panic within your tired body, your mind fogging over with dim horror as you feel him nudging forward, trying to breach the tight ring of muscle at your opening.
He’s going to knot me, like a dog with a bitch. He’s going to breed me.
You shy away from the thought, quivering beneath him, your eyes misty with tears, “Penny…I can’t…I can’t take it…”
“You can, babydoll, and you will. You don’t have a choice.” Pennywise rubs his nose against yours, favouring you with a surprisingly tender smile, and then he’s pushing forward, pushing the thick knot into you, crooning your name as you cry out and writhe in his arms, “Take it, baby. Take it all.”
Oh, it hurts, it burns, almost splitting your cunt open, but he makes sure to take it slow, to take his time, peppering your face with soft kisses as he skims his hips over you. The slickness of your cunt eases his slow passage into your body, lubricated by your juices and his cum, until the knot slides home with a wet pop, slotting itself deep within your yielding walls. Your entire existence seems to shrink to this moment, to this joining of flesh, and you cry out at the strangeness of it all, rocking your pelvis as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness.
Pennywise murmurs your name, curling his arms around you and gently hoisting you on to his lap, and then he flops back on to the mattress with a huffing grunt. You let out a weary sigh and nestle against his chest, with your legs straddling his hips, his cock still buried to the hilt inside of you. Smiling, he reaches down to stroke between your thighs, running his fingers across the obscene bulge of your cunt, where his knot is pulsing within you, leaking his seed into your womb in a seemingly endless stream. He pets your hair with his free hand, cooing in a sing-song voice, planting kisses along the curve of your jaw.
“What happens now?” You whisper against his shoulder, almost afraid of the answer, “What do we do?”
“We wait, baby. Gotta let it ease out of you. Can’t force it, otherwise it’ll hurt you, and we don’t want that, do we?” Pennywise draws a hand across your stomach, rubbing circles over your skin, his blue eyes gleaming with an almost reverent anticipation, “Oho, I can’t wait until you’re all swollen up with my brood, {y/n}. You’re gonna look so fucking beautiful, doll.”
“But what if…”
Flushing beneath his steady gaze, you hesitate, not wanting to jinx it. You’re coming around to the idea of being pregnant, of carrying his offspring, and the thought fills you with sudden joy, setting your weary body aglow with pale fire. You squeeze your muscles around his cock, around the knot, moaning when a fresh load of cum spurts into your rippling cunt.
“Oh fuck, Pen…”
Pennywise chuckles at your lust-glazed expression, sliding his hands over the swell of your buttocks, “Don’t worry, babydoll. Pumped you full enough to burst, one of Papa’s little swimmers is bound to make it through.” He presses forward, bouncing you on his lap, and favours you with a mischievous smile, “And if it doesn’t catch, we’ll just have to keep tryin’ until it does, won’t we? Lucky you!”