I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

When he finally lifted his head she was a ruin.

Hair entirely lost, spread blond and tangled across the pillow. Chest heaving. Skin flushed deep and total. Face wet at the temples, lips parted, eyes glassy and unfocused, staring at the ceiling like she was reading something written there that only she could see.

Nathan looked up at her from between her thighs.

That expression on his face — attentive, unhurried, thoroughly satisfied with the state of things — lasted approximately two seconds before his eyes dropped back down to her and something shifted in them. Something that looked like appetite.

He lowered his head and licked her again.

“Haahn❤️…no—!”

The moan burst from her without warning, loud and unguarded, her hips jerking sharply upward even as her thighs tried to close — snapping inward with whatever remaining strength her legs possessed, which was not very much. Nathan’s hands were already there, palms pressed firm against the insides of her knees, holding them open with a patient, immovable steadiness that her trembling muscles had absolutely no answer for.

She was still sensitive. Terribly, overwhelmingly sensitive — every nerve ending he’d spent the last stretch of time methodically dismantling still raw and live and close to the surface — and his tongue against her now felt like electricity applied directly to exposed wire. Her back arched off the mattress. Her fingers tore at the sheets.

“Haaahn~ I already— I can’t—”

He ignored her completely.

His lips sealed around her swollen flesh and he sucked, gently — gently, with a restraint that was somehow more devastating than force would have been — and Rena felt the gathering start again almost immediately, embarrassingly quickly, her body with no remaining defenses against him, nothing left between his mouth and every response she had.

“Oh— oh— haaahn—”

The sounds came out broken and stacking, each one riding the tail of the last, her head pressing back into the pillow and her chin tipping up and her whole body pulling taut like a drawn string. He licked in long, slow strokes — thorough, unhurried — tasting all of her, her sour-sweet slickness spreading across his tongue while she shook and whimpered and gripped the sheets hard enough that her knuckles ached.

The second wave crested faster than the first.

“Haaahn❤️ haaaa❤️ Yesss❤️!”

It rolled through her in pulses — her thighs shivering against his hands, her hips grinding down in short desperate rolls, a high wavering cry climbing her throat and spilling out into the room unchecked. Her fluids gathered and trickled and Nathan licked them away with a focused, almost reverent attention that made her squeeze her eyes shut and press her burning face into her own shoulder.

Then, finally, he pulled back.

She heard him. Felt the absence of his mouth like the sudden silence after something loud. She lay there for a moment in the soft wreckage of herself — “haa— haaa— haaa—” — breathing in uneven shallow pulls, each exhale a little shaky at the edges, her beautiful breasts rising and falling with the labor of it, nipples still stiff and reddened from everything that had come before, standing peaked and tender against her flushed skin.

She heard him stand.

She heard the slide of fabric.

And then something in the quality of the silence changed.

Rena opened her eyes.

Nathan stood at the edge of the bed and his trousers were gone and she looked at him — she couldn’t not look at him, her gaze pulled there with a gravity she had no mechanism to resist — and what she saw made the blood drain from her face and then rush back twice as fast, the blush hitting new and catastrophic depths.

Her lips parted.

Her eyes went wide.

She knew what Nathan looked like. She had not wanted to know — she had actively, specifically, emphatically not wanted to know — but the knowledge had arrived anyway, years ago, when she saw Nathan’s dick pound Semiramis’s pussy.

She thought about it.

She had thought about it considerably more than she would ever admit to any living person.

But memory, she was discovering, was an inadequate instrument. Because Nathan now — fully hard, stroking himself with one unhurried hand as he climbed back onto the bed — was larger than memory had recorded. Thicker. The length of him was something her eyes tried to calculate and her nervous system tried to contextualize against the dimensions of her own body and arrived at an assessment that sent a spike of something equal parts terror and desperate wanting straight down through her core.

“It’s big,” she said. The words came out before she could evaluate them.

Nathan looked at her. His eyes were very dark.

“And it’s going to enter your pussy,” he said simply.

The words hit her like a hand pressed flat to her sternum — knocking the air out, making her stomach clench hot and tight — and whatever sound she was going to make in response died in her throat completely.

He moved over her. Settling his weight between her spread thighs, close but not yet touching, and Rena lay beneath him and felt her whole body pulled between opposing forces.

Nathan reached up and touched her face.

His hand was warm. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone once, slow and deliberate.

“You need to relax,” he said quietly. “Or it will hurt you.”

Rena looked up at him. His golden eyes were serious — no smirk in them now, no performance. Just him, looking at her, giving her the truth of the situation in plain language.

She nodded.

A single, tight nod — jaw set, eyes steady, the last organized gesture of the woman she’d been walking in as. Then she laid her head back against the pillow, turned her face up toward the ceiling, and took a long breath through her nose and let it out slow. Her hands found the sheets and gripped. Her chest rose and fell.

She felt him shift. Felt his hand settle against her thigh — moving her, positioning her, lifting one leg and placing it against his knee to open her wider — and the exposure of it sent heat crawling back up her face but she kept her breathing deliberate.

Relax.

Then she felt him.

The broad heat of him pressing against her entrance — the tip of his cock resting there, not pushing yet, just present and impossibly warm — and the moan that escaped her was soft and trembling and entirely beyond her control.

“Haaah—~”

Nathan’s hand moved to her breast.

“Hmm~— stop—~— haaahn~” The protest came out boneless, her hand lifting and pressing against her own chest where his wasn’t, because apparently her hands had decided the only acceptable response to stimulation was to add more of it, and some distant part of her noted this as a significant personal development.

He smiled. Removed his hand. Took her leg more firmly in his grip.

And pushed.

“Haaa—!”

The sound she made was sharp and high and startled — her mouth falling open, her head coming up off the pillow — because he was inside her, just barely, just the first stretch of him breaching her entrance, and it was nothing like anything she’d had vocabulary for. The fullness of it. The slow, inevitable spread of her walls accommodating something they had never accommodated before, parting around him with a delicate, trembling resistance that sent twin signals of intensity and overwhelming rightness racing up her spine simultaneously.

He kept pushing.

“Haaahn—! This— haaahn—! Big— it’s too much—!”

She wasn’t performing. She wasn’t composing herself from behind glass. The sounds were raw and immediate and real, torn from her throat by actual sensation — her walls stretching around him inch by slow inch, the deep interior pressure building with every fraction further he went, her body working to accommodate what was being asked of it while her mind ran several paces behind trying to catch up.

Tears gathered again at the corners of her eyes. Not pain — not really pain, or not only pain — more the sheer overwhelming muchness of it, the way every nerve in her body had converged on this single point and was reporting back all at once.

“You can take it,” Nathan said. His voice had gone rough at the edges, the first real crack in his control she’d heard — because she could feel what she was doing to him too, could feel the way her walls gripped and clenched around him, the involuntary flutter of her body trying to process the invasion. He groaned once, low and pressed between closed teeth. “It’s fine. You can take it.”

He had broken through her — she registered that with a distant, clinical part of her mind — whatever thin interior resistance had remained, gone now, and still he wasn’t fully inside her. Still more. Her breath came in shallow rapid pulls, hands fisting the sheets, eyes squeezing shut.

She felt him pause.

Opened her eyes.

He was looking at her — watching her face with those gold eyes, reading her expression with a focus that saw everything — and the question in his face was clear even without words.

Rena gritted her teeth.

Gave him a single, short nod.

Nathan’s hands tightened on her hip and her leg.

And he thrust home.

“HYAAAAAHNNN—!!”

The scream left her at full volume — there was no other word for it, not a moan, not a cry, a full-throated scream that bounced off the walls of the room and dissolved into the dark — because he was inside her, all of him, buried to the absolute hilt in a single deep thrust that drove the air from her lungs and lifted her hips clean off the mattress and sent a shockwave radiating from her core outward through every inch of her body.

She lay there for a suspended moment — mouth open, chest heaving, unable to speak or think or move — and felt something she had no name for. Fullness that bordered on too much. Pressure deep in her belly that was unmistakably, recognizably him, the shape of him inside her, and she looked down between them with wide glassy eyes and saw where their bodies met and felt heat rush to her face so violently she thought she might lose consciousness.

“Haaah~— this…haan~wait…” Her voice came back in pieces. “Wait—”

She swallowed hard. Gulped for air. Her inner walls were already doing something involuntary and rhythmic — clenching around him, fluttering, her body’s own desperate attempt at adaptation — and she felt him respond to it, felt the groan he suppressed travel through the contact between them.

Nathan pulled back.

The drag of him withdrawing sent a full-body shudder through her and a breathless “haaa~” up her throat—

And he thrust again.

“HAAAHN—!”

The orgasm hit her instantly — no warning, no build, just the sudden clenching detonation of her entire lower body as he buried himself deep and her thighs shook and her walls seized around him and she grabbed fistfuls of the sheets and held on.

“I told you, Rena,” Nathan said, and his voice was low and rough and completely certain. He pulled back again — the slow drag sending aftershocks rippling through her oversensitive walls — and looked down at her ruined, flushed, beautiful face with those dark gold eyes.

“I’m going to fuck you.”

He thrust again.

“Haahnn!!”

“Haaahnn—!!”

The moan that tore out of her was different this time — still loud, still raw, still entirely beyond her capacity to manage — but the sharp edge of pain that had threaded through the earlier ones had softened, worn smooth, replaced by something fuller and more complex that she had no prior frame of reference for. Her body knew him now. Had learned the shape of him in the span of minutes with a thoroughness that her mind was still struggling to catch up to, her walls no longer fighting the intrusion but taking it — opening for him on each inward stroke and gripping on each withdrawal, wet and slick and demanding in ways she had absolutely never authorized.

Nathan smirked.

And then he moved.

Pah! Pah! Pah!

The rhythm arrived without ceremony and without mercy — his hips snapping forward in a pace that was not exploratory or introductory or in any way considerate of her adjustment period. He had promised her thoroughly and he was delivering on it, each thrust driving him deep and sure, the headboard shifting slightly with the force of it, the wet sounds of their bodies meeting filling the room with an obscene frankness that made Rena’s face burn even as her hips rose to meet him.

“Haaaah❤️— haaah❤️~— hmmmm❤️—! Haaahnn❤️~— ohhhhhh❤️”

The sounds came out in a continuous broken stream, one rolling into the next without pause, her lips falling open and closing and falling open again around moans she couldn’t hold and gasps she couldn’t time and the occasional half-formed syllable that never assembled itself into anything resembling language. She was loud. She had never been loud in her life. She had prided herself on composure and restraint and the precise economy of her expressions — and here she was, head shaking against the pillow, hair flying, making sounds that would carry through walls.

She couldn’t stop.

Every time she found the edge of something like control Nathan’s hips drove forward and her inner walls spread around him and the pressure hit some deep interior point that scattered her thoughts like a hand swept across a table and what came out of her mouth next was “haaahn❤️—” again, helpless and immediate and real.

Her breasts moved with each thrust — swaying, bouncing softly with the rhythm he was setting — and the sight of it pulled Nathan’s eyes down, held them there, and something in his expression shifted. Darkened. The controlled pace developed a sharper edge.

She felt his walls tighten in her grip on him. Felt the way her body kept contracting around him — involuntary, rhythmic, her soaked walls clenching and releasing in pulses timed to her own escalating pleasure — and heard the low sound that climbed his throat in response. Not quite a groan. Something more restrained than that. A sound pressed down behind his teeth that told her everything about what she was doing to him even as he did everything to her.

“R…Rena…”

The sound of Nathan growling her name — rough and unpolished, cracked at the consonants, nothing like his usual unhurried steadiness — hit her somewhere deep and private and made her clench around him so hard that his rhythm stuttered for half a beat.

His hands left her hips.

Found her breasts.

His fingers closed around both nipples simultaneously and pulled.

“HYAAA❤️!! Haaahn❤️! S— stop— haaahn—! My breasts—!! HAAAHNN❤️❤️!!”

The scream that left her was operatic. There was no other word. It rang off every surface in the room and she felt it in her own chest, felt the vibration of it in her throat, and she didn’t care — couldn’t locate the part of herself that would have cared — because the twin lightning strikes of sensation from her nipples and the relentless driving pressure of him inside her had converged into something that had no ceiling she could locate from where she was.

Her thighs clamped against his sides. Her hips ground upward in short desperate rolls that broke his rhythm and then found it again. Her hands scrabbled for something to hold and found his forearms and gripped hard enough to leave marks and she didn’t let go.

“Haaahn❤️ Haaan❤️!! Nathanhnnnn~~”

“F…fuck… Rena—”

His voice came out fractured. Her name in his mouth like something pulled out of him against his will.

He thrust deep — deep, deeper than before, burying himself to the absolute hilt with a force that drove her up the mattress and held there.

“HAAAH—!”

Rena gasped. Felt the impact of him at her deepest point. Felt her stomach shiver with the pressure of it — a visible tremor crossing her abdomen, her walls seizing around him in immediate, total response — and then felt the heat.

His release hit her like a wave coming from inside — a surge of liquid warmth flooding her, shooting deep, spreading through her in pulses timed to the groan that finally broke free from Nathan’s chest, low and long and unrestrained, his hips twitching with each pulse, buried inside her as far as he could reach.

The heat of it tipped her over.

“HAAAAHN—!!”

Her orgasm detonated without warning — her whole body seizing in a single full-length clench, her back arching off the mattress, thighs shaking violently against his sides, her walls convulsing around him in rhythmic waves that wrung another broken sound from his throat as she milked every last pulse of him. Her head pressed back into the pillow so hard the tendons of her neck stood out. Her hands locked on his forearms. Her mouth stayed open around a long, wavering, “haaaaahn—” that slowly, slowly dissolved into breathless silence.

Then nothing.

Just the sound of two people breathing.

Just the ceiling, white and still above her.

Just the heat of him still inside her, still pressed against her deepest point, both of them unmoving in the wreckage of the last however-long-that-had-been.

Rena’s thighs were still trembling. Small involuntary aftershocks moving through her in diminishing waves, her walls fluttering weakly around him with each one. She could feel everything. The wet fullness of him inside her. The sensitivity of her nipples still singing from his fingers. The deep interior ache that was somehow entirely separate from pain and entirely inseparable from satisfaction.

She stared at the ceiling.

Her lips moved.

No sound came out for a long moment.

Then… very quietly, in a voice she barely recognized as her own:

“…I can feel you.” Not a complaint. Not an observation, exactly. More like her mouth reporting what her body had filed as the most significant fact currently available.

Nathan looked down at her.

His golden eyes were dark and heavy and thoroughly undone in their own careful way — a dishevelment that lived behind the eyes rather than on the surface, controlled even now, but present in a way she had never seen from him before.

And it filled her with quite pride and happiness.

Nathan’s thumb moved. Found the curve of her cheek. Traced it once.

Rena’s eyes slid closed.