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Curse of Empty Holes
🕑 Added 2024-06-07 07:59:37 +0000 UTCThis is an older piece from I believe late 2022, unedited except for some minor grammar fixes. It is, somehow, even gayer and stupider than most of what I write now, with less subtlety. I thought it was interesting to see how my writing has changed in only a few years.
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“Explain to me exactly what the problem is,” said the hedge-witch. He looked more than a little bored. “There don’t appear to be any external physical effects,”
I hummed. “Well, about a month ago, I was delving in a dungeon, slaying liches, collecting treasure, you know the drill. Well, some skeleton with gemstones for eyes managed to cast something on me. It didn’t do anything for a while, but three weeks ago, and again one week ago, I was overcome by… base urges for the whole day.”
“Define ‘base urges’. Are we talking violence? Gluttony? Interpretative dance?” the hedge-witch asked.
“Well, uh, I’m not totally lucid during these… episodes, but the way a friend described it was as if I was possessed by the spirit of an ‘insatiably slutty cum guzzling cock fiend’. His words, not mine.”
The hedge-witch wrote something down on a parchment that I desperately hoped didn’t rhyme with ‘clock cleaned’. “I see. Anything else?”
“As far as I can tell, no.” I said. “It’s like I spend the entire day sleepwalking and I wake up the next morning dehydrated and sweaty. It seems to be happening more often each time, too.”
“No more details are necessary, thank you,” said the hedge-witch. He reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a silver ring inlaid with a pearl, which he handed to me.
“This should help you keep your wits about you.”
I stared at it, then him, then back at the ring. “Is that it?” I asked.
“If you feel any negative side-effects alert us immediately. Other than that, powerful domination spells like this have a limited lifespan, especially if the caster isn’t around to keep sustaining it. The simplest thing to do will be to wait it out.”
The hedge-witch pulled out a pen and handed me a receipt. “That’ll be 200 GP, by the way.”
I spent the next few days anxious and paranoid. I didn’t want to meet anyone’s gaze, for fear of recognition, and my restless nights were plagued with dreams of exotic cocks.
Then, one morning, I woke up. My first thought was “I need to get fucked,” followed immediately by “Wait, this is new,” which in turn was followed by “I paid 200 GP for this?”
I took stock of my surroundings and mental state. The need to be bred permeated my entire being, but I was aware of that feeling instead of it existing somewhere distinct from me.
I needed to get fucked, instead of someone else piloting my body to get fucked. I was interrupted from my metacognition by the sound of my roommate Horace stirring from his bed.
I needed to get fucked. He could fuck me. Had he already fucked me and I just didn’t remember it? This was weird.
“Hey,” I said. I tried not to sound too desperate.
“How are you feeling?” Horace asked. He was hauling himself out of bed, and from my position I could see the muscles of his back tense and flex as he stretched.
“Sentient,” I said.
“Do you usually not?” he asked.
“Okay, look, I’m gonna cut the knot.” I began. “The ring only solved half of the issue. I can think clearly and speak but getting fucked is currently higher on my priority list than eating.”
Horace hummed. “Do you want some help with that?”
I nodded. Horace sat down on my bed and motioned for me to scootch over, which I did. He laid down and flipped me sideways so that we were spooning. It felt nice. Familiar.
He had done this before, I realized. Horace reached down to explore my ass, pressing two fingers against my hole. I moaned before I could stop myself, and Horace pressed forward.
Soon he was fucking me on three fingers, then four. I was pretty sure with a bit more effort he could fit his whole fist in there.
“Enough!” I half-shouted. “I’m ready. Please.”
Horace grunted an affirmation and pulled me closer to him. With one hand he caressed my chest and with the other he guided his cock to fit snugly against the cleft of my ass. The sensation was electric, and again familiar.
Figures. I couldn’t remember anything from these episodes except whose dicks had been inside me.
My grousing was interrupted by Horace bucking his hips forward, shoving his cock halfway inside me. We both let out satisfied groans as Horace adjusted himself to the feeling.
With calculated slowness, Horace pushed forwards until he was as deep as he could go; his balls gently grazing mine. He shuffled his hands around until one was pressing its fingers against my mouth and the other loosely tugged my own cock.
Instinctively I began suckling on his fingers and bucking forward into his grasp, and Horace took that as a sign to begin fucking me for real.
Whatever part of me stored the relevant information noted that he was more gentle than average; he wanted me to feel good as much as he wanted to feel good.
His thrusts were deliberate but quite deep; withdrawing nearly all the way before bottoming out again. Each time he buried himself to the hilt I moaned needily around his fingers.
He sped up just a bit each time, and soon he was fucking me near-frantically as I squirmed in ecstasy. My own hips bucked haphazardly into his grasp and the sounds of his exertions told me that he was as close as I was.
“You’re much sexier this way,” Horace growled into my ear. “I know you’re gonna remember this. Remember how good I made you feel.”
I nodded but my words were blocked by his fingers in my mouth. Horace nearly roared with satisfaction as he paused deep within me and unloaded.
The feeling of his cum flooding my guts and the fulfillment of my deepest needs sent me over the edge as well and I shook as I came harder than any time I could remember.
We panted, still spooning and locked together, for a few minutes. Horace brought his cum-soaked hand to my face and without even needing to think I lapped at it.
The taste of my own seed filled me with a tingling warmth, and I informed myself that it was nothing compared to swallowing another man’s load.
“How are you doing?” Horace asked as he pulled out. The feeling of his cum pouring out of me was sublime.
“Better. That was really good. Thanks.” I managed. The need for more was still present, but it was manageable now; a constant craving instead of overwhelming desperation. “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”
Horace made a noncommittal noise as he got out of bed. “The first time you, uh, woke up like that you were insatiable. It was like you were going to die without sex and I didn’t want you to suffer. So yeah, I did fuck you a couple times.”
He took a deep breath. “When you woke up the next morning totally normal and with no idea what had happened I nearly had a heart attack I was so scared. That wasn’t you I had fucked. This time it was you. Unusually horny, maybe, but it’s still you. I liked that. I like having sex with you.”
I processed this information. “I didn’t know you were gay,” I said, stupidly.
“I don’t know what I am,” Horace corrected. “At first I just wanted to keep you from hurting yourself or something. It was just… a favor for a friend in need. It was better this time.”
I found myself unable to meet Horace’s gaze. He leaned in closer to me and I suddenly couldn’t process anything except the steady rhythm of his breathing.
I was snapped back to reality by my stomach growling. I needed to eat something and drink a couple hot loads. I was uncomfortable with how much the thought of doing both at the same time turned me on.
“Can we get something to eat?” I asked. “The mess hall should be doing breakfast still.”
