Kris is walking home from school today. After the last week, he's been begging Toriel to drive him. He seems afraid of something, though Toriel insists there's nothing to be afraid of in Hometown. When asked why he insists on it, he can never explain it. Today, she finally said if he isn't willing to explain it, he will have to walk. The expression of fear on his face upon hearing that was... extraordinary, to say the least.

For the first time in a long time, he lingered around his classmates. Susie could "protect" him, if only she didn't have to leave to deal with family matters. He was "safe", physically, so long as he was around someone else. Every so often, he'd be subjected to a split-second vision. Sometimes it would be benign enough. Something as simple as seeing himself leaning against a wall. Other times would be more specific, like his clothes being removed, or his adorable lithe body against a bed. Each vision caused his cheeks to burn red with a curious mix of frustrations, and made him dread the stretch between the diner and his house more.

Finally he bit the bullet and made a mad dash through the street towards his door, hoping he would make it before...

"Kriiiiis..." the voice echoes within his mind. YOUR voice.

He freezes for only the briefest moment and continues his dash towards his door, not stopping to acknowledge the voice at all. He doesn't hesitate to pull the door open and rush inside, and only then does he finally relax. In the safety of his home, he doesn't have to worry... or so he thinks, anyway.

You haven't appeared to him physically since the day you received your vessel. The memory of how you stared him down (inasmuch as a faceless being can) for several minutes without moving or saying a word, before vanishing and only then beginning to speak directly into his head left a particularly sour taste in his mouth. The visions and your voice are just small punishments you force on him. The greatest punishment is him knowing that you are always watching, even during his most private moments, and could strike at any time.

"Ah, there you are. The walk was good for you, was it not?" Toriel greets him at the door with her usual careless smile, book in hand. He didn't dare look at her with the anger so plainly written on his face.

He marched towards his room, until he could finally close the door behind him, and that's when the tension began to leave his body. He flopped onto his bed and immediately rolled to face the wall. Breath in, breath out, while his heartbeat gradually returned to a normal pace. Breath in, breath out, while he considered what to do next.

Due to Susie's home emergency, Kris no longer had a project to complete. Alphys had passed the both of them, due to you giving her the idea that he was researching the shelter. One thing he was reluctantly grateful to you for. With nothing particular to focus his attention on, he pulled out his phone and stared at the screen as it came on, and absentmindedly entered his passcode. He stared at the home screen, doing nothing but waiting for... really anything to happen.

His mind started to drift to the past week, and the events replayed in his thoughts. Everything leading up to you receiving your vessel, which only he saw happen. Susie witnessed the aftermath; A pale-faced Kris, who at first was certain you would kill him, until the strangely sensual imagery of you forcing your fingers into his mouth flashed across his consciousness, and filled him with a far different kind of dread. For some reason, you've never appeared here in his home, and he's never thought to question why.

All of the paranoia throughout the day has drained him, and it only becomes apparent now that he's laying down. His phone slips out of his hand and onto the bed. He drifts away before he even realizes how exhausted he is. Just before he loses consciousness entirely, another vision comes into view. Him pressed into his bed, one hand wrapped around his wrists and firmly holding them above his head and the other resting on his inner thigh. His body stirs lightly and he mumbles something incoherent as he tries to fight the sleep in response, but it's already too late.

In a flash of light, you finally appear beside his bed, your first time using your vessel in several days. This is the moment you've been waiting for so patiently, and a misshapen wicked grin cracks across your vessel's head before disappearing just as quickly. Still without a face, the only way you can create a mouth or eyes is by focusing on it intently, but it vanishes the moment you stop. The process still needs some time to perfect. Putting that aside, you silently shuffle to the door and lock it, then return to his side.

Looking down at him, it's clear he's dead to the world, and that will make this next part so much easier. Grasping his shoulder, you gently roll him onto his back. You reach for the bottom of his shirt, one side in each hand, and pull upwards in a deliberate gradual motion to avoid waking him. Up and up it goes, until finally his neck and chest are fully exposed. Seeing him like this, it's hard to keep on task, but you persevere.

His long sleeve goes up and over his head, leaving only the arms still in place. You position it behind his head and then reach for his wrists, pulling his hands up to the headboard. Holding them together with one hand, you lift his shirt up further, until it's at his elbows. One and two, you pull the sleeves part-way off of him, leaving you just enough fabric to work with. You pull the sleeves both under and around his arms, then tie them together behind as tight as you can. It's not perfect, but it's sufficient for restricting his hands.

His pants are next. Undoing them is simple enough, and you repeat the process to remove them as you did the shirt. One hand on each side, then a slow pull, all the way down until his legs are exposed to the air. You would try to bind his legs, but frankly you pinning him down will be more than enough to handle it. You drop them onto the floor and look him over once more. Now all that's left are socks and underwear, but something inside you implores you to leave them until he's awake.

Now to figure yourself out. Sure enough, the clothes you have on come off like you would expect, but even your chest is gray and featureless. As with your face, focusing on what you want allows you to shape your form, which you promptly humor yourself with by gaining a massive rack, but it only stays for a moment. Looking back at Kris still sound asleep, you can say with certainty that you'll have time to figure this out.

Breath in, breath out, you focus on arguably the most important thing first. How long should it be? How thick? You don't want to hurt Kris too much, of course. You settle on an average five inches, but for some reason, it's a different shade of gray than the rest of you? You try to match the color, and it phases out of existence, so you start over, this time with what you think is the correct color already in mind. Now it's the right color, but it doesn't have a proper shape. This is more difficult than you imagined.

You spend nearly two hours trial-and-erroring through multiple attempts at manifesting body parts until you ultimately resemble Kris himself, albeit more muscular and a bit taller (and without a face). This is satisfactory, at the least. Using Kris' appearance against him is like poetic justice.

You return to Kris' side and throw one leg over him, then straddle him such that you're sitting comfortably against his cock, still covered by his underwear. You grind into it softly, giving yourself little jolts of excitement. Feeling the motion, Kris' eyes flutter open.

For a moment, he groggily stares at his dresser, absentmindedly pressing his hips upward against your body, until he realizes this isn't supposed to be happening. His eyes settle on you, and immediately fill with fear and anger.

"G-Get the fu--" He tries to yell out, but you cover his mouth before he can finish. He tries to swat you away with his bound hands, pulling against the makeshift restraints in the process. A similar sinister grin to before cracks across your "face" as you look down at him, still gyrating against him. Instead of humoring him with a response, you hook your free hand into the waistband of his underwear and pull the fabric just enough to set his erection free. Despite his protesting, he's standing perfectly at attention, and it's wonderfully warm against your back. He bites down on your hand in response, but you don't so much as wince. How convenient that this body can't feel pain.

He thrashes side to side in an attempt to throw you off, but you're firmly planted with your legs centering you beside him. You reach further down and give his sack a sudden squeeze, causing him to freeze in place and stare at you.

"How cute." you whisper to him, the words brushing against the edge of senses. You squeeze down just a bit harder to assert your position over him and watch his expression become equally more scared.

Slowly, you remove the hand covering his mouth. He doesn't make a sound. You lean closer until your face casts a shadow over his. Still not a word. You move your hand upwards to grasp his shaft and give it an experimental stroke. Something like a short, breathy growl escapes his throat.

His eyes never leave your face, even as you reach forward and push a finger into his mouth. He takes it without a fight. You issue a simple command, "suck", and you feel his cock twitch in your hand as he obeys. Part of the fear in his expression disappears as he wraps his lips around your finger. You push another in, and he continues. He follows the order perhaps a bit too literally, not bothering to use his tongue, but whether it's naive obedience or not is hard to tell.

All the while he wets your fingers, you pump your hand up and down in a tortuously slow rhythm. It's clearly not enough for him, because you can feel him struggling to push upwards into your hand against your weight. He succeeds at one point, and you can only laugh at his desperation.

You pull your fingers out of his mouth and move forward until you're resting atop his chest and your dick is up against his lips. He sneers at you, trying to push you away, but you and he both already know that won't work. He keeps his lips tightly sealed until you command him yet again.

"Open." you say. This time, not into his mind, but to him directly. Audibly. His breath catches in his throat at the sound of it, and he slowly opens his mouth just a bit. You let go of his shaft and instead wrap your fingers around his throat, giving a warning squeeze before ordering him once again; "Open."

With his mouth wide open now, you push the tip inside. His face goes entirely red and he winces in embarrassment as he closes his mouth around it and suckles without being commanded. You release his throat and push a bit deeper. A quiet moan bubbles up from within him and he quickly covers his face with his sweater-bound hands.

"Kris." You whisper to him, reaching down to cup his face with one hand and feeling the burning of his cheek. "Look at me."

He doesn't move his hands away, despite still suckling on you.

"Look at me." You command him. The sweater lifts up slightly; Just enough that you can see a sliver of his red eyes.

You push deeper, until he's bottomed out against the base. He never once gags. Instead yet another low moan escapes him and is muffled by the rod stretching his throat, and his eyes water slightly. You slide your hand up under his bangs and force the sweater higher, pushing his hair back so you can be sure he's watching.

"Good boy."

And that is enough to send him over the edge. His body tenses up, his breath catches around you as much as it's able, and he lets out an unrestrained groan of pleasure around your cock. You turn your head just in time to be splattered with one thick rope. After the first, he begins thrusting against the air behind you, sending a second rope against your side, then another onto your back. The rest coats his flat stomach, and then leaks weakly down his length. His eyes never left you, just as you commanded him.

As he lets the last of his seed spill, you move backwards to pull yourself out of his mouth, quite pleased with the show you got. You reach up to your face and swipe away the strand, bringing it towards what should have been a mouth. It takes a moment, but your mouth does appear, complete with a tongue that you use to lick it off your finger and swallow, all while Kris watches.

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Pub: 18 Jul 2025 18:56 UTC

Views: 45