Reapzo – continuation of this – brain washing; exhibitionism; spit roasting – Reaper shows the Overwatch Agents how well he’s trained his new pet.
.o.
The rubble beneath Hanzo’s knees and hands only hurts for a moment before Reaper slips silky tendrils across the hurting parts and shields him from the sharp edges.
He is confusingly nice like that: He will show Hanzo off to whoever damn well he pleases, humiliating him by forcing him to come again and again on slippery tendrils that fuck deep enough to bulge his belly, but he will also make sure he is not being *hurt* in the process; wrapping himself around him enough to keep him warm and secure from potential chafing.
Maybe Hanzo has been in his custody for too long, but it makes him feel all warm and… protected, even when blackness curls around his throat and forces his head up. Makes him look at the Overwatch Agents that stand a careful few feet away, staring with pale faces and gaping mouths.
His mouth drops open. He wants to say something. Apologize, maybe? Or tell them not to look? But Reaper knows what he is doing even before he himself knows it, and the ink on his throat slides up across his chin. Small tendrils fill his mouth, dragging against his tongue until Hanzo obediently licks at them. Lets himself get throat fucked by Reaper until his eyes go glassy and everything is nice and muted.
He barely registers that some of the Agents are calling out to him, and trying to get him to snap out of it; or answer their queries, maybe. He can’t, though; not with Reaper’s little tendrils tickling the back of his throat until he gags wet and lewd, his whole body rocking with it.
Hanzo stares at them, hot with humiliation and need. He’s ashamed to admit that Reaper has trained him to respond to the feeling of being naked and exposed to others; letting them see the swing of his fat, hard dick and how he angles his hips into the fucking.
Months ago this would have been unthinkable. Ludicrous, even. Now, after months of training and being conditioned, he can’t fathom not being filled by the silky blackness of his captor. He is addicted to the feeling of getting his insides spread out on Reaper until he feels almost nauseous.
The monster is feverishly hot; a constant, slow churning in his guts like a particularly lazy flow of magma, and this, too, had been something he had to get used to first and then became addicted to later. Hanzo feels so *cold* without Reaper fucking him; pushing fat, undulating tentacles into every orifice of his body until Hanzo is not sure anymore where one begins and the other ends.
He knows he should be mortified and humiliated, being exposed and shown off to his former colleagues and, yes, friends, but he can’t dredge up much inspiration for actual thought when Reaper is slipping into his loose, sloppy hole flirtatiously.
Hanzo groans when just the tip of the tentacle pushes inside, then pulls out again while more tentacles wrap around his thighs and pull them farther apart. He tries to turn his head and look back, whine at the amorphous mass that is behind him, but Reaper’s grip is unrelenting and keeps his head turned the way it is. Doesn’t let him look away from the pale, shocked faces, or the slowly dawning realization that Hanzo is actually not in *distress*.
As Hanzo stares into Mei’s face and watches her pretty, plump mouth drop open in an ‘oh’ of surprised understanding, Reaper’s tentacles start shifting.
Hanzo gets lifted off of all fours and turned around like he weighs nothing. When he starts struggling, a long, thick tentacle slips into his sloppy hole and presses gently against the swollen bump of his prostate – and just like that, his vague, pathetic attempts at fighting off the slick, velvety mass dissolve into nothingness.
He is held up like an offering, his arms stretched up above his head and held secure by the monster. His legs are spread, knees up and almost at his ribs. Reaper shows him off, and Hanzo obediently loves it, his cock prominently jerking and dribbling as he feels the stares of his former comrades on his body.
Reaper laps at him, warm little licks of his appendages that pull back only reluctantly because he wants to *touch* him, but he also wants to *show* him.
Hanzo’s hips get curved forward, his loose hole on display for their audience to watch as he gets slowly, intimately spread on a sleek tentacle. He gurgles wordlessly, mouth still open and used by Reaper, who had pulled back but is still idly petting across Hanzo’s tongue.
Reaper wants to show off his superiority and Hanzo couldn’t have stopped him even if he had wanted to. All he can do is play right into his hands, gurgling and drooling and trying to fuck himself on the cock-like tentacle that’s dipping into him at a rate that is not enough. Not nearly enough.
He imagines coming like this, in front of his erstwhile friends: with a monster fucking him deep enough that his belly bulges, orgasm rolling over him without a need for his cock to be touched.
Coming like he’s been *trained* to do, shameful and slutty – and when more tentacles slide across his pecs, flicking and lapping at his hard, needy nipples, he knows that he has no chance *but* to show off what he has learned.
Let them see how far the Shimada heir has fallen.
Cyberrat Writes 