Monstrum Fan-Fiction (Discontinued)

A Brute's Urge (x Fem!Reader)

          It has been days since you've found yourself stuck on a boat. Not only that but in the middle of an ocean. It's been a constant struggle trying to find an escape route with the fact that there is another passenger on board. He's big and looked like a melted mess. How do you know that he was a male? Well . . . he isn't wearing clothing. Enough of that, back to the point. You would gather the tools needed and then the Brute would come along and ruin everything, causing you to either run for dear life and/or hide while you quietly pissed your pants. Good thing the old crew had spare clothing in the lockers . . . but no shoes. You woke up for some odd reason without shoes and only socks.

          You were walking around the upper decks trying to find more duct tape, since the Brute just had to rip even more holes into the raft for the third time again. You enter a room with a bed and two lockers, off to the side is a desk with . . . duct tape! You finally found some. You already have the chain attached to the crane, all you have to do is patch up and inflate the raft again. That's when you start hearing the stomping. You listened closely, they were getting closer. You had to hide quickly so you dashed under the bed. You could've gone for the lockers but it was too late to change hiding spots, he was already in the room. The light radiating from his face lit up the ground like a miniature red spotlight. You could tell he was looking around, probably wondering why the door was open. With a small groan, he closed the door behind him and walked slowly to the bed; your hiding spot. Sweat started to quickly drip off your face and onto the floor, making a small puddle form. Your face was white as paper and you didn't want to die, not like this. Not by the hands of this monster.

          You never realized how heavy he was before since the bed creaked and bent when he sat down on top. If you made one small peep, you were most certainly dead. Then he started to shift around and spread his legs a bit. A minute passed before the bed started to move up and down slightly. The movement was slow but it started to pick up quickly. You didn't really know what he was doing until he started to grunt and moan quietly. It hit you and with that you started to panic even more. He was jerking himself while you were right below him without his knowledge. You didn't know how long he was going to do it for but you are going to have to endure it for as long as it takes. 

          You laid there, scared. You can't do anything except . . . if you really ever so wanted to. You could but you would have to be completely silent. His small grunts started to turn you on and you couldn't help but slowly slide your hand down your pants and into your underwear. You slowly rubbed your clit and your insides, moving back and forth between the two. He was slowly going faster and so you did the same, imagining yourself on top of him. Wait . . . you were fantasizing. You bit your lip, trying to keep the urge to moan in. You knew that if you made a noise, even a small one, you were screwed. It was getting to you. You couldn't stop it. 

          "Oh . . . fuck~!" You cried out. That's when he stopped dead in his tracks with his strokes. He quickly got up with a small roar, turned around and looked down at the bed. The time of pleasure has came to an end. His red spotlight was aiming right at your hiding spot before he reached down and grabbed you by the arm, pulling you out from below. You were then slammed into the wall with his right hand now placed around your neck. It had a slight smell but it was the least of your worries, you were about to die. You tried to fight back by kicking and scratching but it was no use, he had a death grip on your neck. As a last resort before the embrace of death, you try to reach for his face. You tried desperately to do . . . something, anything that would make him stop. He then loosened his grip. But why, you wonder. You look at his face and notice he is staring at your hand, smelling it. You started to lower your hand but he grabbed it with his left hand, keeping it in place. He was taking deep breaths. He was taking in the aroma.

          'What the bloody fuck . . . ' you thought to yourself. Why would he be sniffing your hand? He lowered you but still kept you pined up against the wall. He then, without warning, licked it. His saliva was warm and slimy. He kept on licking your fingers and tasting them. Then it came to you, it was the same hand that you were touching yourself with not even a couple of minutes ago.