Submit, For Now

I don’t move. The knife sits within reach, close enough that my fingers could brush the handle if I stretched just a little farther. Every instinct I have screams at me to go for it, to turn this into motion and blood and chaos before they decide what happens next.

I **** it down, not yet. Mars feels the shift in me anyway. His grip tightens, not because I fight, but because I don’t. That seems to bother him more. With a brutal, popping sound, his rough fingers hook into the denim at my crotch and rip the snaps apart. Cool air hits my skin, followed by the heat of his rough palm splayed possessively over my cunt. He says, low in my ear, “There it is.”

The intrusion is rough and sudden, a blunt claiming that steals my breath. Two thick, grimy fingers shove inside me, working in a crude, pistoning rhythm. "Still nice and tight," Mars grunts, his face close to mine. I can smell the desert on him, the stale sweat and something metallic.

"Won't be tight for long," Lizard observes, his voice a satisfied rasp. "Not after Papa Jupiter gets a turn. He'll wallow it out good and proper." He watches, his tongue flicking rapidly, a spectator to my degradation. But his gaze is fixed on my face, looking for the moment I break. He won't find it. My humiliation is a bright, clarifying wire.

"No more games," growls Mars, his breath hot and sour against my neck. He withdraws his fingers. I hear the rustle of coarse fabric, then the hot, heavy weight of his diseased cock presses against my slick lips. There's no finesse, no seeking. He just shoves, and the thick, diseased meat fills me in one brutal stroke.

His thrusts are a brutal, grinding punishment, each one a claim staked deep in my ruined flesh. "Take it, you hog bitch," he snarls, his hips slamming against mine with a wet, meaty sound. I can feel every vile inch of him. I imagine the scalding heat of infection, the rough texture of his skin scraping my insides.

Lizard leans in, his breath a foul cloud. "Gonna pump you so full of seed your belly swells up nice and round. Gonna be a good little brood-sow for the family, ain't you?" The obscenities wash over me, but they can't touch the cold, dark core that's coiling tight inside. I let my body go pliant, accepting the violation, even arching my back to take him deeper.

I keep my breathing even, keep my eyes forward, and give them nothing to work with, no reaction they can latch onto or twist. The first hit comes without warning. Mars drives a fist into my side, just under the ribs. Pain flares hot and immediate, stealing the air from my lungs in a sharp, involuntary gasp. Lizard's eyes gleam with a feverish light as he watches Mars work.

I fold slightly before I can stop it, muscles tightening on reflex. Mars shoves me forward a step, then yanks me back again, testing the slack like I’m something on a line. “Thought you were gonna be trouble,” he adds. “All that fight.” His cock stretches my sore, abused flesh to a new, burning limit. I bite my tongue until I taste copper, my eyes squeezing shut.

Lizard chuckles from a few feet away, the revolver steady in his hand. He just watches, the barrel trained on me like it belongs there. “She learned,” he says. “Took her a minute.”

Mars hits me again, lower this time, not as hard but deliberate. He’s not trying to drop me. “How long you think she lasts?” he asks.

Lizard tilts his head, considering like it’s a real question. “Depends,” he says. “She smart or stubborn?”

Mars leans closer, breath hot against my ear. “Which one are you?” he murmurs. I say nothing. Another hit follows, this one across my shoulder, snapping me sideways into the counter. My palms hit the edge to catch myself, and for a split second my eyes flick down.

His rhythm is a punishing, mindless thing, a jackhammer drive that rocks my whole body against the thin mattress. The camper's walls seem to shake with it. He fucks me like he's trying to break something, his grunts short and animal. I can feel the sick, slick slide of him, the raw burn of each thrust.

Lizard's hand clamps over my mouth, muffling the sounds he thinks are pain. But my eyes are open, staring at the metallic ceiling. I count the thrusts. I measure his breathing. I let the filthy, overwhelming sensation of it all wash through me, and I don't fight it. I am half succubus after all. This ain’t my first rodeo.

The knife is still there, still within reach, but now it feels too obvious, like a spotlight waiting to betray me if I even glance at it for too long. I **** myself to look away before they can follow my gaze, but Mars notices anyway. “Oh, you lookin’ for somethin’?” he asks, almost playful.

Lizard’s gaze flicks to the floor, then back to me. The grin spreads wider, slow and knowing. “She’s waitin’,” he says.

Mars laughs, a short, sharp sound. “For what?” he asks.

“For us to mess up,” Lizard replies. The revolver never wavers.

They know. I straighten slowly, forcing my shoulders back despite the pain humming through my ribs. My hands curl loosely at my sides, not clenched, not ready. Mars studies my face, searching for something, fear, anger, anything he can grab onto. I meet his eyes finally, keeping my expression flat and calm, and it throws him off for half a second.

He doesn’t hit me again right away. Instead, he shoves me down again and keeps thrusting sloppily. It's a ruinous stretch, tearing at tender, already-abused tissue. I can feel the grotesque swell of him, the way my body is **** to accommodate his girth, the searing heat of whatever sickness festers in his veins.

It's not just an invasion; it's a contamination. My senses recoil from the taint of him, swirling in my gut like a trapped storm. A dark, bitter laugh bubbles up in my throat, stifled by Lizard's palm. A hundred and fifty years of hunting monsters, of taking life and pleasure in equal, messy measure, and I've never once caught a disease. Never once quickened with child.

My mother's infernal gift, it seems, is a ruthless purity; my body consumes or rejects anything that isn't pure sustenance. This filth pumping into me won't take root. It will burn away inside me, fuel for the fire they're stoking. The realization is a cold, clean blade. I stop fighting the violation. I note the exact moment Mars's rhythm begins to falter, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps.

He slams into me one final, shuddering time, his body going rigid as a strangled roar tears from his throat. I feel the hot, vile flood of his release jet deep, a claiming he thinks is permanent. It pools inside, a sickening warmth that my body immediately recognizes as foreign, as waste. He collapses on top of me, his weight crushing, his breath hot and ragged against my neck.

"There," he grunts, satisfied. "First seed's in. Good and deep." I hold him tight for one more second, feeling the last of his spent energy, sour and weak, flow into me. Then he pulls out with a wet, obscene sound, his softening flesh dragging against the torn, slick mess he's made of me.

Lizard finally removes his hand from my mouth, a slow, smug smile spreading across his thin lips. "Look at that," he hisses. "Making a proper sheath out of her. Papa's gonna love it." The promise is another layer of violation. That's fine. I've been doing this for more than a century.

Mars shoves off, leaving me exposed. The crotch of my overalls is a ragged, gaping hole, the denim dark with sweat and other fluids. Between my legs, my cunt feels raw, stretched, and disgustingly open, a sloppy, used ruin dripping with his foul release.

I let my head loll to the side, feigning a broken exhaustion, but my gaze finds Lizard's. His tongue darts out, a strange mix of reverence and hunger in his gaze. A familiar, predatory warmth begins to uncoil in my belly, a different kind of hunger rising to meet the violation. "Is that all you've got, pussy?" I whisper, my voice hoarse but clear.