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Wilting petals adorned the soft, pale skin. Light marks sucked into the milkiness; at some points sets of teeth marks could be found.

A lotus flower, stripped of its velvety, enchanting body. Strained muscles, along with harsh ache, though none could compare to the violation.

Ebony, silky locks grabbed and thrusted backwards, eliciting a sharp gasp. Waist tightened like corset, and throat coated in restrictive leather.

Hands roamed the blank canvas, not yet tarnished by the hungry claws of desire.

A pathetic, broken winged butterfly, ensnared in the web and trapped to its fate.

Sight had been long removed, dull, olive orbs hidden behind thick cloth, and covering his senses.

His thighs were taken with soft care, pressing down in precise locations; controlling exactly what was to happen.

The sounds around, only limited to a rhythmic buzzing, and the muffled sobs of the prey. There was no shame, long lost in the attention given to the clean and groomed body.

Bones delicately traced, only having barely distracted from the unwelcome intrusion inside.

Followed with discomfort, motion was shoved into his heat, and protruding increasingly more. Two, three, separate figures stretching him further than he could.

Never would he had been prepared for something so obscene.

The cries of unknown meaning were choked out against will. Completely restrained, injected with warm fluid prior, he wasn't able to resist. Large, darkened hands made sure, the beast would get what it craved.

Erratic breathing was suddenly followed by a loud yelp, a forceful, large entity shoving into his sensitivity and tense warmth.

Filling the limp, trembling form to the brim, to where it was becoming painful.

If only the cry of fear and stimulation had been heard. Then if maybe, someone or something could take him away, remove him from his surroundings and give him just anything else to focus on.

Anything.

Sickening, thick, burning hot liquid suffocated him. Filling every last part of him. It was disgusting, yet inescapable. Painful, if even so.

He was taken.

Shameful, abhorrent, appalling; he couldn't even find enough words to describe himself now.

He hated every last feeling, sound, and smell.

He would have gladly fell into the cold arms of death, if he had known that this was his outcome of living. And if only he did know. If he hadn't met the beast, and if he had ended it sooner.

Never had he wanted to choke on his own organs and expire, so much in his entire, still quite short, existence.

There was no escape however, this was how it will stay, frozen and rigid. Tense.