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He supposes it's not especially masculine to lie still on the bed and let his mind wander while she rides him, but by this point, he's beyond caring.
Any man who favored women would be glad to be in his position, he thinks, or at least any man who didn't know Inga. There aren't a lot of men who do know Inga; it's entirely possible that he's the only one to have had the fortune to know her so well. Misfortune, maybe. He's not sure. Which says a lot about her, really, that she could be a ridiculously attractive woman having sex with a guy who can thoroughly appreciate ridiculously attractive women but in this instance would rather be doing almost anything else. Reading. Walking around the city. He'd even prefer the creepy affection of Inga in her younger form. Instead, he stares at the ceiling while she plunges herself onto his cock, and wonders when it will be over.
Inga has to be appeased. He knows that. She knows that, too, which is why this is happening in the first place; he can't say no to her, not when he's the only thing keeping her from wreaking havoc on the rest of the world. Perhaps this is her way of flaunting the hold she has on him. If it is, it's certainly an effective one. All she has to do is caress him in public, kiss him and wrap her arms around him while others watch, and it's more than enough of a reminder of what he has to let her do when they're alone. It's also a way to prevent anyone else from getting any hopes about him, which he's grateful for, because he doesn't know what she'd do to anyone who tried. Inga likes to think that he belongs to her. Maybe he does. It doesn't matter, anyway.
She lets out a breathy laugh and presses her fingernails hard into his hips. He winces at the sudden pain, but apparently that's what she was going for. "You're always such a cold fish," she says. "Why don't you try to enjoy it? Your body seems to." Her nails slide over to flick at the base of his cock. More pain, sharper now.
"My body reacts with a basic stimulus-response," he replies. "The rest of me prefers to have sex with women who would do it with some intent of pleasing me, not just themselves."
"Well, it's your fault if you can't appreciate it," she says with a pout. She closes her eyes, and a grin slides onto her face. "Ah--there, yes, mm, even if you don't try you have your uses--ah--"
He feels her clench tight around his cock, and despite himself it sends a shiver throughout him. Stimulus, response. She takes that slight twitch as a sign to ride him harder, up and down and warm and wet and impossibly clinging. His breath gets faster whether he wants it to or not. He squeezes his eyes shut, grits his teeth, and lets the wave wash over him as he comes inside her. There. It should be over soon.
"Shinjuurouuuu," she says, rolling out the last sound in his name like she does when she's eager or disappointed or upset. "You didn't even give me time to finish. That's not fair. Not at all."
"Consider it a sign that you're too good for me to wait," he says, opening his eyes. He finds her looking down at him, another pout on her face. Usually when this happens, she makes him go down on her, even while his come is still inside her. (He can't decide if that's because it's another way to exercise her dominance or because she just forgets.) It won't take long, anyway. He starts to brace himself up on his arms.
Instead, she puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back down. "No, let's try something new," she says. "Since you're so cold about the way I am now. Maybe you'll like something different better?"
For a moment, he wonders if that means she's going to turn back into her younger form. She's never done that before. He doesn't even know what sort of equipment she has when she's like that, if she has any at all. Everyone seems to think she's a boy. She doesn't contradict them.
As she slides off of him, that proves to only be half true. Inga remains tall, sultry, very obviously feminine--but there's a crackle and a shifting shadow lengthening between her legs, and oh. No, they haven't done that before. And he's very, definitely sure that he wishes it had stayed that way.
Inga reaches down to caress his face. "Don't look so worried," she croons. "It'll be fun. You might enjoy the change. I will."
"We've established that this is more about you than it is me," he says, trying to keep a note of fear out of his voice. "Stop pretending you care."
Her expression changes to a frown. "Well, fine, then," she says. "If that's what you want." She pushes his softening cock out of the way and lines up her hips with his, gets ready to move forward.
But for all he's trying to stay composed--"Wait," he says, almost stumbling over his words, "could you--it's not going to fit, not like that." He doesn't know the details of how this works, but the cock Inga's chosen for herself is massive, and the thought of that going inside him is scary enough for him to abandon dignity. "Just--make it smaller, or--something, just not like that." She's never badly hurt him before, not on purpose. But there's a first time for everything.
"You sound afraid, Shinjuurou," she says, and is she surprised? How is she surprised? Did she really think he would enjoy that? "I thought humans liked bigger sizes." She gestures to her breasts, large and on display as they are. "Don't they?"
"There are limits," he says. "And I'm not--this isn't what I do, Inga." He's pretty sure Inga doesn't comprehend human sexuality, other than how she can use it for her own entertainment, but he can't just let her do whatever she wants now. Even if he was inclined that way, this would be too much.
She gives a melodramatic sigh. "Humans," she says. "I'll never understand how you work." And her cock does shrink a little, down from an impossible size, but still larger than he'd like. But he might be able to handle it. Maybe.
"Now stop being coy, I want to try this," she says. And once more she lines herself up.
"Wait, wait--" Isn't there, what is it, he's never done this before but he has some vague knowledge that you need more than that, don't you? "You have to slick it up first, that makes it easier."
"So many rules," she moans, but she pulls back and surveys him before her face lights with a wicked grin. She spreads her legs and points between them. "Get to it, then."
Another first he'd rather have avoided, but what can he do? He eases himself up and forward, kneeling between her legs. The position is awkward and it's only about to get worse, so he steels himself and inhales for as long as he can before he takes the head of her cock into his mouth.
It barely fits. The taste isn't sour, not precisely, but it's different from the non-taste of normal skin and the texture is odd enough that it takes him a moment to adjust. Then he tries to swipe his tongue across the head, remember what it was like forever ago when some human girl did it for him, and he's rewarded with a sharp thrust that drives it to the roof of his mouth, makes him choke. He glares up at her, unable to verbally tell her to stop, but all he gets in response is the same evil smile and a hand combing through his hair. Her fingernails scrape across his scalp.
All he can do is try to coat her cock in as much saliva as possible, so he tries, and tries, moves his tongue across as much as he can. But his inexperience makes him sloppy at best, and as she lets out a small huff of annoyance she resorts to directly fucking his mouth, removing what little participation he had. Her cock slams into his throat, leaving him struggling for air, and it's too much, how is this going to fit inside him, how is he--
She pulls out. He gasps and rubs his throat, feels saliva drip down the corners of his mouth. God, the way he must look now. When he looks back up, she smiles down at him and scratches the back of his head like you would a dog. "You're not very good at that," she says, false pity ringing in her voice. "We'll try again later. But for now--" She pushes him onto his back and shoves apart his thighs, nuzzles at one of his knees. "--now, can we finally get around to this?"
She doesn't wait for him to respond. In one fluid motion, her hips roll forward and the tip of her cock thrusts into his ass. He tries not to scream, not as she pushes further and further in and stretches him so painfully he almost has to scream, but he can't, he doesn't even know why but he can't. It hurts more than anything else that's ever happened to him. And judging by the way she's laughing, she loves it.
"You should've told me I was missing out, Shinjuurou," she says, while she ravages his insides. He's bleeding, he has to be; certainly there's blood in his mouth, from where he's biting his tongue but barely even feels it, so eclipsed it is by the pain between his legs. "I would've tried this sooner if I knew you felt so good inside. Is this what it's like when you're inside me? No, it can't be, or you wouldn't lie there like you always do." She leans her face down close to his. Her breath would be hot against his skin if he could concentrate enough to notice it. "You hold onto me so tightly, Shinjuurou," she whispers. "Do you want me to stay in you forever? I could do that. I could let you lose yourself like this and stay here, stay mine, long past being able to feel or think of anything else. I could fill you up so deeply you would never want to escape. Should I do that, Shinjuurou?"
She's teasing him, he knows that, but it all hurts so much he can only hear the implication that she wants this to last, and with every thrust his mind frays further. His fingers dig into the sheets so hard the cloth might be tearing, he's not sure, a ragged gasp escapes his throat and then it's out, he can't keep quiet, he doesn't know what sounds he's making or if there are any coherent words but there must be some meaning to it because Inga's face changes just slightly, a little less seductive, a little less devious. The thrusts stop. One of her hands snakes over to stroke his face.
"Well, perhaps I shouldn't," she murmurs. "So fragile, humans. They babble and collapse when I ask them only a question, and you...humans do enjoy this, don't they?"
Somehow, in the haze, he finds words. "Not--like this," he chokes. "It hurts, Inga, please--" And isn't that a sign, that he's in such desperation he stoops to begging her, when normally that would be a laughable idea. She's not used to it either, judging by how her mouth curves slightly downwards.
"Pleading doesn't suit you," she says. "You could at least try to resist, that would be fun--but no, it doesn't look like you're up for that, are you? Such a disappointment." She sighs, and the weight inside him lessens. He almost sobs in relief. It's still there, but not enough to break him, and that's probably the best he'll get.
Inga starts up again, if a little slower now. The push against a spot inside him might almost be pleasurable if he wasn't still aching. His fingers unclench a little in the bedspread, and the shaking gradually slows. It's easier, now, to return to some semblance of his usual reaction, to let her do what she wants while his mind drifts off into some other subject.
Eventually, she finishes with one last thrust and a jet of liquid heat splatters inside him. She pulls out, surveying him with a wary expression. His legs collapse onto the bed, free of her hold. Slowly, his breath begins to even.
When he finally looks up, she's back to normal, or her version of normal, anyway. He braces himself up on his arms. "If I react more, will you never do that again?" he asks, breath still slight.
"I'll think about it," she replies. "If you're very good."
That's all he can hope for, really. "Right," he says, and falls back down onto the bed. Getting up just yet doesn't seem a pleasant prospect.
She reaches down and brushes his hair out of his eyes. It's another weirdly affectionate gesture, a trait of hers he doesn't think he'll ever understand. Fond of him she might be, but her ways of showing it are--contradictory, at times.
Crackle, shifting shadows, whoosh, and she's a child again. She lies down next to him and attaches to him like a limpet, curls up close with her glove-covered arm across his chest. She--he--Inga nuzzles at his shoulder. "Let's find some nice mysteries tomorrow," Inga whispers into his neck. "Some souls to play with." It's not a request. But there must be something, surely, in this complicated city.
Shinjuurou closes his eyes, and tries to imagine solving the mystery of why he thinks anything is worth this.