The first time he tries to pull back he whines in shock as the ridges catch at sensitive flesh, the pain infinitely worse than what the thing had done to him with its claws. The worst part is it doesn't do anything to shrink his erection, though, none of his struggles or efforts do; he's been so thoroughly conditioned to equate danger and pain to arousal that it's all just playing into the creature's twisted, inhuman hands.

"Go to... to hell," he chokes out as soon as his mouth is free, though it's more a sob than anything. And then the thing is lapping at his wrists, dragging at raw flesh, and he can feel its hot breath on him as it drinks his blood, feel the wet heat of its throat undulating around him, and he knows he's going to come. Knows there's nothing he can do to stop it from happening, but he thrashes more desperately anyway, bellows wordlessly in rage and betrayal and fear as he feels pleasure coiling low in his belly, drawing up his balls, making him dizzy with the hot rush of it along every nerve.

He tries to focus on his goddess, thrashes and jerks and tries to tell himself this is battle, that this is dedicated to Her, but he knows in his soul that he's soiled beyond any hope of cleansing, that She'll never touch him again. That no matter what he does, he's lost, and he comes, shaking and sobbing and feeling more empty than he ever imagined he could.