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This situation was really, truly, worse than Fafnir could possibly wrap his mind around.
“You’re so cute when you’re quiet, you should stay like this all the time!”
“Silence.”
Fafnir was currently in a most degrading position. Bent over the arm of his own couch, with Lucoa standing ever proud behind him. Her warm fingers gripped the frigid pale flesh of his hips less than gently, her slightly pointed nails digging into his skin and most definitely leaving marks and bruises. Fafnir growled, though the noise was cut short by a sharp thrust forward from the woman behind him.
“U-Ugh!-“
“Don’t growl at me, pretty boy. You can handle it, can’t you?” Lucoa purred condescendingly, one of her hands sliding up into Fafnir’s long, inky black locks of hair. Her fingers entangled in the strands at his scalp and rested there comfortably before she began tugging. This human form was inefficient for many reasons, but especially in its responses to pain. It was humiliating how quickly her incessant pulling at his hair made tears well in his usually emotionless wine-red eyes.
“Why must you use this strange contraption? I-it is- useless to…you. You can change your f-form at will.” Fafnir grunted, his voice strained with the effort of keeping his own noises from bubbling out of his throat.
“You’re such a killjoy, y’know that? I just wanted to try it out! Humans create all kinds of fun stuff like this.” Lucoa hummed calmly, way too calmly compared to how Fafnir was quivering in both mortification and mild pleasure-pain.
Every sensation warped together in his mind, making it increasingly difficult for him to comprehend anything the ex-goddess said. It was a strange contraption indeed, at least to a dragon. The harness pressed into Lucoa’s hips and plump thighs, making the areas bulge slightly. The image had aroused Fafnir more than he cared to admit. The device itself was an absurd neon eyesore that mimicked the shape of human genitalia, and was currently inside of him. It felt strange and pleasurable all at once and made his head feel too heavy on his shoulders and his usually freezing cold body feel warmer inside.
Just as Fafnir managed to get a slight hold on his thoughts, Lucoa began thrusting. Forward and backward, over and over again. Slowly but surely making him go insane as he leaned down and sunk his fangs into the plush cushions of the couch like some sort of animal in heat, pathetic, maybe, but he simply couldn't stop himself.
“You’re so cute.” Lucoa murmured, leaning down and pressing small kisses to the back of Fafnir’s neck as the hand that once gripped his hair slithered back down toward his hips. Fafnir could only grumble in response.
The sensation was really like nothing Fafnir had ever felt before, he felt full inside and overwhelmed to the point the usually intensely stoic man didn’t even realize he was drooling onto the couch. His claws nearly tore into the cushions with how tightly he gripped them, and Lucoa seemed to take cruel pleasure in the sight before her.
“You are a deplorable w-woman-!” Fafnir managed through clenched teeth as he released his bite on the cushion, earning a small giggle and a sharp thrust forward from Lucoa. The movement jostled Fafnir enough to force a small noise from his throat, enough to make Lucoa coo and gently pet down his arched spine as if he were some kind of hound. The sensation made his skin prickle and breath hitch, whining as she ever slowly continued bucking into him.
Fafnir practically yowled when she thrusted into a spot that made his vision blur, the constant movement behind him driving his hips into the couch, forming more bruises no doubt. He gave up speaking, what use was there for words anymore? Did he even know how to use them at this point? It was all too complicated when his mind felt like a slurry of everything and nothing all at the same time.
"Enjoying yourself down there?" Lucoa hummed with a cat-like grin on her face, gripping Fafnir's hips tighter and driving into him with renewed vigor, making him yelp in an embarrassingly high tone.
What a despicable broad.