Chapter Text
“Fuck—fuck, it’s not coming out,” you groan, your voice strained as you clutch at your swollen belly. The sheer weight of it fights desperately against gravity, like it’s determined to keep you stuck in place. You can feel the thick, stony mass of gargoyle cum lodged deep inside you, unmovable and unyielding as it winds through your intestines and bloats your abdomen. It’s like carrying a fucking boulder in your guts, and the discomfort is relentless.
You try to push, to squeeze, but nothing budges, not even the pair of gargantuan cocks still lodged in your ass. The hole already feels stretched to its absolute limit, and the taut skin of your engorged belly is almost unbearable in its tightness.
Two gargoyles surround you in a faux embrace, their stone wings flared in ecstasy where they’ve frozen mid-plunge into your overstuffed ass. Their eyes are open but vacant in the sunlight, their expressions currently unreadable, but you know the pair just well enough to be able to guess that they’re probably amused as hell.
Sons of bitches, you think to yourself. This was not part of the deal.
It started out like any other night at the junkyard—quiet, eerie, the air heavy with the kind of supernatural energy that never failed to make your skin crawl. It might seem odd, but you’re mostly used to the atmosphere of the place by now, with its rusted cars, dented appliances, and the broken wands and cursed jewelry that lay scattered across the trampled earth like so many discarded toys.
The gargoyles, perched on the edge of the rooftop of the main building, were a part of your “security team.” They didn’t talk, but they were effective. No one messed with the junkyard when the gargoyles were around unless they had a death wish.
The deal you’d established with your unusual coworkers was simple: they covered your portion of the responsibility for protecting the place, and in return, they got to use your body whenever they felt the itch. The agreement had been working out just fine until tonight.
Tonight, they’d been extra horny.
You remember the moment you stepped out onto the rooftop. One of the gargoyles –the larger one, with its cracked wings and a jagged, crooked grin– had grabbed you from behind before you could even set down your flashlight. Its clawed paws were rough and its grip unrelenting as it plucked you from the ground like you weighed nothing at all. You felt the ridge of its cock pressing against your ass, already erect and gnarled with those damned knurls you’d grown to both love and dread.
“Hey—hey, easy,” you had tried to say, but the words were cut off as it tore the back of your trousers down and tested your hole with a single, enormous finger that it shoved into you without warning. Your breath wheezed from your lungs at the unexpected intrusion, despite all the prep you’d done before you clocked in. The second gargoyle hovered just at the edge of your vision, crowding close as it searched for a gap of its own to slide into, and you knew it wouldn’t be long until it found one.
Dammit, you thought to yourself then. This is going to be a long night.
Now, hours later, you’re stuck. Literally stuck.
The second one bullied its way into your hole alongside the first, leaving you skewered on two cocks at once, then both of them eventually knotted inside you at the same time, locking themselves in place as they pumped you full of cum. You could feel the hot liquid filling you in massive surges, stretching your belly to obscene proportions. Your skin grew hot and red, stretching tight over the large bulge that now protruded from your abdomen. A fresh batch of stretch marks had even spiderwebbed across your flesh, evidence of just how much you’d taken.
The gargoyles hadn’t stopped rutting into you until the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon. That’s when they stilled, their bodies transforming back into stone the moment the sun kissed their skin. Their cocks, still buried in your ass, hardened along with the rest of them. And their cum –every goddamned liter of it– solidified into a heavy, immovable mass deep within your guts.
You try to shift your weight, but the effort sends a sharp jolt of pain through your lower back and leaves your head swimming. The boulder of stone-cum presses heavily against your organs, making it hard to breathe. And thanks to the way they’ve wrapped their muscular arms around you, there’s no way you can possibly wriggle free.
You glare at your gargoyle coworkers, frustration evident on your face. “You have gotta be kidding me,” you mutter, your voice tremulous. “You guys fucking suck. How the hell am I supposed to get down and clock out for the day? The day shift is gonna start soon, and the boss’ll have my hide if he sees me like this, you fucking jerks.”
The gargoyles, of course, do not answer.
The air shifts when the sun finally dips below the horizon, a familiar tendril of magic brushing against your awareness. You’re still stranded on the rooftop after the previous night’s activities, your belly a tumescent, aching mass as the load of gargoyle cum inside it begins to soften for the first time in hours. You can feel it now, the weight shifting, pressure building lower in your gut. It’s not just the physical sensation anymore; there’s a heat there, a strange, almost electric thrum that makes your skin prickle.
Fuck.
You’ve been through this enough times to know what’s coming next. The stone shell cracks over their forms, the first signs of life returning to your gargoyle tormentors. Their eyes gleam in the dimming light, glowing faintly as they stretch their wings and claws, shaking off the stiffness of daylight. One of them –the larger one, the one you’ve started calling ‘Brute’ in your head– fixes its gaze on you immediately. The other, ‘Scar’, grins, its fanged mouth curling into something that might be amusement, which is all too probable considering that it’s been balls-deep in your ass all day.
You grumble and shove at Scar, finally managing to dislodge yourself from its softening knot and slumping to the sun-warmed roof. Trying to sit up, you’re not surprised to find your body betraying you, your stomach groaning and gurgling under the weight of the stone-turned-liquid that’s been plugging you up. Fucking hell, it’s like carrying a boulder in your gut.
Your hands grip the rough ledge that goes around the rooftop as you grimace, trying to steady yourself. You try to stand, but your legs buckle under the ungainly weight. You’re forced to remain on all fours, your belly hanging low as you struggle to find a comfortable position for what comes next. It’s not pretty, clearing some of the pressure from within your spunk-packed innards, but considering the lecherous looks you’re already getting from the gargoyles, it’s a necessity; your body can only hold so much. So you clench your eyes shut, shift your thighs further apart, and bear down.
The sudden release is enough to make your eyelids flutter in unexpected pleasure, warm wetness cascading from your well-used hole to splatter noisily against the roof. An unabashed moan forces its way past your lips, while your hips involuntarily lurch forward in search of friction.
Why does this have to feel so damned good?
Of course, your reprieve can only last so long. Brute is already stalking toward you, its heavy claws scraping against the rooftop and its wings shifting and fluttering at its back, a half-hard cock bobbing heavily between its brawny legs.
Here we go again.
Brute doesn’t waste time, clearly eager to put your deal into action again. A massive hand grips your thigh, yanking you towards it with effortless strength. You gasp, your freshly-emptied body sliding across the rough surface of the roof until you’re left sprawling at its feet. Scar circles behind you, its tail flicking eagerly.
You know this routine by now. The gargoyles don’t need words to communicate; they move together with a predatory synchronicity that’s uncanny.
Brute’s shaft juts out from its sculpted body, thick and ridged and glistening with precum. You can feel your own body responding to the sight of it, a traitorous heat blooming in your chest despite the discomfort of being manhandled. Fuck, it’s humiliating how much you’ve come to crave being used like this. Your hole clenches instinctively at the sight of that cock, and part of you hates yourself for it. Another part reminds you that it’s a small price to pay for a steady paycheck and regular sex.
“Not again,” you mutter, but your protest is weak, half-hearted. You don’t even mean it anymore, not like you once might have.
Brute listens as well as usual, which is to say, not at all. It pins you to the rooftop with one clawed hand on your back, the other pressing against your ass to spread you open as its cock nudges against your entrance. The ridges drag against your skin, sending sparks of sensation shooting through you. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.
Come on, just get on with it.
The gargoyle thrusts into you without preamble, its girth stretching you wide in one ruthless motion. You cry out, your fingers curling against the rooftop as it buries itself deep inside you. You’re still wet and well-stretched from being fucked yesterday (and a day spent essentially cockwarming them), making Brute’s latest intrusion go that much easier. The prominent texture that studs its length massages your inner walls, dragging against sensitive spots that make your vision blur. It’s not gentle –this is never gentle– but it’s exactly what you need.
Even if you won’t admit it out loud.
Scar doesn’t wait for an invitation to join in the fun. Grabbing you by one of your ankles, it hoists you into the air, heedless of the way its companion is already fucking into your hole. It takes a little creative maneuvering, but the second gargoyle eventually manages to position itself at your entrance, the harsh sensation of rough skin grinding like sandpaper over yours almost too much to bear. You whimper, unable to stop yourself from shuddering as Scar jams itself in alongside Brute, stretching your body even further. The two of them fill you completely, their cocks sliding against each other inside you in a way that makes your head spin.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
The next thing you know, you’re hanging beneath two massive gargoyles while they use your ass like a fleshlight. There’s no way in hell that your body should be able to take this kind of abuse—all you can figure is that something about the magic of this place has leeched into your very flesh, making it change, adapt, grow stronger to take more of them. You can feel it in the way your muscles clench around them, the way your hole stretches wider to accommodate their girth without tearing.
It’s not a perk you ever expected to obtain by working at this dump, but god damn, are you glad you did.
Because you need that kind of flexibility right now, with a pair of massive gargoyles thrusting into you in tandem, the remnants of their earlier load still sloshing inside you, their enormous cocks roiling away in your guts like a pair of paddles in a butter churn. Your belly swells and bulges around each shaft, leaving the shape of each visible through the thin flesh of your abdomen. You’re hard too, your own cock bouncing pathetically with every rough thrust, but its size is nothing compared to these beasts.
“Fuck me,” you pant, your voice barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing and the slick slap of their bodies against yours. You cling to their legs as best you can, needing more. “Fuck me harder, assholes.”
They don’t need to be told twice. Brute growls low in its throat, its thrusts becoming more irregular as it nears its climax. Scar follows suit, its rhythm faltering as it fucks into you with abandon. You can feel their knots swelling, already impossibly large, slapping against your entrance as they prepare to lock themselves inside you.
There’s no turning back now. Not that you want to.
Brute comes first, its cock pulsing as it releases another torrent of cum deep into your bowels. The warmth of its seed spreads through you, filling your innards to the brim while Scar follows close behind, dumping its own load into the mix. Their knots pop into your body with an ease that should worry you, tying into place and sealing their cum within you as they keep thrusting, intent on milking every last drop they have into your already bulbous belly.
You can’t help but moan, your body trembling as the heat builds inside you. Your gut stretches further and starts to sag, the skin pulled taut from the enormous load you’re now carrying. You can feel it grow—the weight, the pressure, the way your body struggles to contain all of the seed it possibly can.
And you don’t want it to end.
“Fuck me again,” you gasp, your voice hoarse from screaming. “Don’t stop!”
Brute snarls in response, never even slowing in its movements to fill your ass again and again. Scar continues with just as much enthusiasm, leaving both cocks still locked inside you and abusing your sore, throbbing rim while they continue to fuck you relentlessly, long into the night.
You should know better than to let yourself get lost in this, no matter how good it might feel. Because inevitably, the sun will rise, and these idiots have made it a fucking game to leave you in the most embarrassing positions possible when it finally does.
That’s why you’re still on the roof when the day shift starts, left as a rather graphic monument to your inhuman lust. Thighs spread wide, asshole well and truly stuffed, you’ve been forced to remain hanging there upside down beneath the two gargoyles, your grossly distended belly packed full of solidified gargoyle cum.
Your abdomen is little more than a fragile flesh bubble stretched tight around a concrete zeppelin, its surface taut and angry. Every breath and every faint movement leaves you aching from the staggering weight of it as it dangles almost to your face, threatening to crush you from above.
“This isn’t what I meant when I told you not to stop, you bastards,” you groan, trying in vain to hold your heavy belly up to relieve some of the pain. “One more stunt like this, and I swear I’m gonna sandblast those smug grins right off your damned faces.”