[The most embarrassing part of all this is that the demon is right. Miyano is the quintessential good boy -- he gets good grades, he follows the rules and never defies his parents, he's on the damn disciplinary committee at school for god's sake.
Good boys don't feel huge, inhuman hands grabbing their hips and holding them still so an enormous, hard, terrifying demon cock can grind slowly against their bare ass and get excited by it. Good boys don't instinctively arch their backs and spread their legs and silently beg for more, head already spinning with the incredible impossibility of something so big fitting inside them.
Good boys definitely don't have to bite back more of those needy little moans at the soft, dark voice against their ear, at the grip of one huge hand around their throat, at the inescapable warmth of the demon draping over them. Miya is trying desperately to pretend he isn't spreading his legs for the slow, curious exploration of the demon's tail, trying to blame this on something else. The drugs, maybe. Something.
He shakes his head weakly, shuddering in helpless pleasure at the teasing feel of the tail between his legs, fighting the urge to drop down to his elbows and knees, to present himself like a horny, desperate beast.] N-No, I-I -- that's d-different!
[It has to be the drugs. He can't really want this. He can't. That'd be crazy.]
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Good boys don't feel huge, inhuman hands grabbing their hips and holding them still so an enormous, hard, terrifying demon cock can grind slowly against their bare ass and get excited by it. Good boys don't instinctively arch their backs and spread their legs and silently beg for more, head already spinning with the incredible impossibility of something so big fitting inside them.
Good boys definitely don't have to bite back more of those needy little moans at the soft, dark voice against their ear, at the grip of one huge hand around their throat, at the inescapable warmth of the demon draping over them. Miya is trying desperately to pretend he isn't spreading his legs for the slow, curious exploration of the demon's tail, trying to blame this on something else. The drugs, maybe. Something.
He shakes his head weakly, shuddering in helpless pleasure at the teasing feel of the tail between his legs, fighting the urge to drop down to his elbows and knees, to present himself like a horny, desperate beast.] N-No, I-I -- that's d-different!
[It has to be the drugs. He can't really want this. He can't. That'd be crazy.]