Chapter Text
You really shouldn’t be doing something like this.
It’s beneath you.
And yet, here you are. Waiting, wanton. Panting for what you know is coming.
You’re blindfolded and your wrists are tied behind your back, cradling your head, your legs are forcefully spread and all you can feel is air moving across your naked skin. Sweat, running over your body. Your every nerve is on fire, your hungersack is a writhing mass inside your abdomen. What if - what if -
You can barely bear to think of it but what if no one touches you. What if no one wants what you’re offering. They can see that you’re a blueblood, your nook on display shameless and greedy, already dripping premat to the floor. You can feel it sliding down your wantonly (invitingly) spread thighs, your skin almost shivering with shameful need from the lack of contact. Bulge fully unsheathed and moving languidly as it paints your skin with a faintly different shade of blue, everything in you feeling heavy and so hungry. No one’s been let in yet to the chamber where your unprotected body is on display, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood.
It feels like forever, like you’ll die waiting until you hear sounds coming inside. The sound of the door opening, the muffled noise of voices coming dimly through the plugs in your auricular sponges.
A hand touches your thigh and you clench your teeth so hard around the bit propping them apart so hard you can feel how it almost comes apart. If it had been metal, you would have shattered them but you’d foreseen that. Thick, hard rubber, making you drool uncontrollably down your chin, the sides of your throat as your nostrils flare and you - make a noise.
A slurred, straining trill of mating fondness, of explicit sexual desire.
You don’t know who is watching you, touching you - and you had deliberately set it up like this. Any moment in the future, you could possibly be interacting with a troll who’d fucked you like this, inexcusably lewd, unforgivably vulnerable. Warm and cool hands both touch you, stroking your skin and you mewl indecipherably around the rod blocking your tongue from moving, your lips from forming proper speech. It’s an animal’s muzzle, and it’s an animal that you’ve reduced yourself to willingly. Oh, goodness gracious, oh so very willingly. You’ve reduced yourself to something lower than even a rust troll, maybe something mutant despite the pure blue of your hemotype. It’s disgusting, you’re a traitor to your caste. And you are enjoying it, with plans to enjoy it even more in a very carnal fashion.
Finally, despite your inability to beg beyond moans, someone steps between your thighs, held so helpfully outstretched by more rope. The sensation of being held down to the bench is not entirely truthfoal, but your willingness to subdue yourself makes it so. The ropes just remind you of where you are. Of what you are.
The lick of warm bulge over your empty nook makes you buck your hips eagerly, and even as you’re trying to encourage this first audacious assault on your body, it’s what one would call too late. The heated slickness of the stranger’s bulge (stranger? It could be someone you know and you would never know, not ever) sinks straight into your nook and you moan. All your sounds are choked up, but you think you hear some kind of laughter from the trolls watching you.
A hand slaps your flank, and then the troll embedded in your nooks starts to move. They barely had to wait for anything to loosen, you were so wet. So ready. You hope - you wish - you pray that there are many of them, and that they all spend themselves deep in your nook. Painting you every colour, any colour. From the warmest rust to perhoofs (dare you hope) the coolest fuchsia - no, purple would truly be the most you could hope for but when this is over -
You are sure that when you look at the murky rainbow spilled in about your body, you will be happy. Because in all hoofnesty - this is what you really want.
And what you really are.
You are nothing mare than a bucket.