Craven's Feast

Craven favored having a foot amid both planes. Making him impossible to fight off. Physically able to touch.

But not be touched.

Or hit.

Or kicked.

My skirt was folded into a wide roll draping my belly. My feet were pushed further apart yet, revealing indents in the mud where his toes pressed in for leverage. Dislodging leaves as they slid sideways.

His weight dropped over me. Flattening the tops of my thighs, while simultaneously indenting the insides of them from where his pointed hips pressed in. Then I felt the thickened knob of his piece wiggling my inner lips apart.

I braced myself expecting pain, but he’d already healed the damage the goblin had done. So, I felt only the rough intrusion as he slipped in and seated himself.

I tried to wake enough to escape him but filtering through the layers of sleep was like swimming out of a pile of endless pillows. Getting through one only made three others tumble down on me.

He inserted himself and my back lifted with the pressure inside.

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