Slipping through her window with the stealth of a predator, he was upon her at last. The anticipation and intensity of his yearning were nearly crippling, a lust so fierce it ignited his very soul with a rage like fervor.
This was her doing... his need for her was so acute it left him inflamed and Read more…weakened with desire.
As she stepped forward to embrace him, he seized her throat with unsteady hands, every ounce of his self control tested to avoid crushing her delicate windpipe.
With an effort, he eased his grasp, only to find his teeth buried in her neck with a ferocious urgency. She let out a cry as her flesh yielded slightly beneath his bite, yet this time, he refrained from consuming her entirely.
His fingernails dug into her flesh, holding her with an unyielding *** as he groaned against her neck. His mouth hung open, gasping to temper his ravenous hunger. As he licked at the mark he had created, his tongue moved with the desperate urgency of a wild beast quenching its thirst.
Her screams reverberated in the charged air as he tore off her skirt, swiftly followed by her panties. His body ached with an unnerving need, the sensation akin to the headiest of aphrodisiacs spiked with an excess of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He was *** by desire as he gripped her hair tightly and hurled her ***fully to the ground. The moment she pushed herself up and cast a backward glance at him, his last vestige of self restraint shattered.
"Look what you've done," he snarled, freeing his engorged cock from the confines of his trousers. His hand encircled her throat, the throbbing head of his manhood teasing her slick entrance. He felt her pulse racing, her breaths coming in urgent gasps.
"No, not yet," he growled, pulling back abruptly and flinging her down once again. Lunging forward with predatory grace, he sank his teeth into the supple flesh of her ass, showing savage abandon as her screams filled the air and she thrashed wildly, desperate to escape.
“Shut up,” he hissed as he smacked the cheek he'd just imprinted his mark upon, using his thumb to he traced the wound. He was so close to her snatch. Despite her protests he could smell her arousal.
“Oh you like this do you? You stupid fucking whore he chuckled as he slid a finger inside of her. She was dripping wet. “Does your ass get this wet?" he said with laughter strained through clenched teeth. With swift brutality, he withdrew his finger only to drive it with unyielding *** into her ass.
"That's it…is this what you wanted?" he snarled, delivering several more stinging slaps across her ass, eliciting a tightening around his invading digit. As he slowly extracted his finger, he replaced it with a medium sized plug, securing it within her slightly gaping orifice.
He wasted no time in flipping her onto her back, his hands encircling her neck, throttling her to emphasize his commands.
"You thought you could just come around me and dangle yourself like a piece of meat? What kind of imbecilic twat begs a beast to crawl through her window?" he spat, his tone laden with ferocity. His grip shifted from her *** throat, entwining in her hair, while his other clawed hand viciously claimed her breast, kneading the soft flesh as a declaration of his dominance.
His veneer of control frayed at the edges as he watched her struggle to draw breath, each desperate gasp chipping away at his patience.
With a harsh smack to her breast, he sank his teeth into the supple flesh of her abdomen, fingers digging into her ass with possessive ferocity before trailing down her thighs, leaving behind searing reminders of his touch.
His arousal, once momentarily subdued, now stirred anew…his cock twitching, throbbing, aching with a primal need. Forcing his fingers past her lips, he shoved his head between her thighs to savor her taste. Yet her teeth clamped down on his hand in defiance, and in response, he unleashed his savagery upon her thigh, his bite drawing crimson beads to the surface.
"Do you prefer this, then?" he snarled, his mouth enveloping a larger swathe of her flesh, biting down again as if to claim her very being with his predatory hunger.
His composure, precariously cobbled together with each swell of restraint, fractured at the slightest whimper, the faintest gasp that slipped from her quivering lips.
"Stop... wait, no," he commanded, his hand clamping on her face, dragging her by her delicate jawbone to her knees. The look in her eyes…wide with terror, tinged with the intoxicating haze of desire…it fueled his craze, igniting a fire within.
"Yes... fuck," he breathed out, his voice but a whisper, his grip on her face relenting as he gave it a series of light, stinging slaps.
"Yes, good..." he murmured, his hands in her hair, manipulating her upright with the ease of a puppeteer hoisting a marionette into position. He leaned close, his breath hot against the shell of her ear as he growled a sinister directive, "Now you're going to worship my cock as if your very existence depends on it…no stupid shit… Misstep, and you'll be *** for the parts you'd beg not to." His hiss was a fierce undercurrent to the threat.
The tumultuous look that flickered in her eyes as he discarded her to the ground was the potent catalyst to his madness, erasing all pretense of control. In a swift motion, he hoisted her into the air, pressing her drained body against his own relentless ***.
As he drove his cock inside her, her slick warmth enveloped him with an ease that belied the abruptness of his actions, yet the intensity of the moment left her further disoriented.
Her screams melded with the ferocity of her clawing at his back, her body convulsing, tightening around him with a powerful grip. He allowed her a few potent seconds impaled on his length before removing her, only to position her yet again.
"Now... open," he commanded, his voice brimming with dark authority as he slapped his wet cock against her flushed cheeks. Impatience was unnecessary…he plunged into the depths of her throat amidst her heaving breaths.
His relentless thrusts pounded against her, each motion deeper into the cavern of her throat, each sound of her ***d sobs and gags fueling his rampant desire.
"Are you okay?" he purred, amusement lacing his tone, an echo of concern merely a shadow within his chuckle. As her ragged gasps filled the air, surrender seemed to unfold across her features in the briefest of moments.
Yet, instead of a verbal response, she seized the moment to attack, her teeth sinking into the flesh at his side with a ferocity mirroring his own.
Undeterred by her biting, a primal rumble vibrated from deep within his chest. His arm slithered around her, his hand moving with deliberate intent as he slipped two fingers back into the welcoming heat of her pussy.
"You're perfect, aren't you?" he growled, his voice thick with raw appreciation and lustful dominance.
His hand withdrew only after a taste of her depths, and with a ***ful grip, he pried her off of him, her teeth reluctantly releasing their hold. She fought against his restraint, eager still to bite and suckle the flesh she had claimed as her own.
Seizing her chin with unerring precision, he loomed above her, a sardonic smile dancing across his lips as leaned over and smiled against hers.
He whispered a command…murmured like a seductive spell beckoning her to proceed as he claimed her mouth with an imposing invasion of his tongue.
Her response came without hesitation, her lips suckling at his tongue with voracious eagerness as he grappled with his own rampant desire, his hand encircling his pulsing shaft in a futile attempt to quell its insistence.
Unable to restore his sanity he thrust her away and put a barrier between them, his foot pressed firmly against her breasts.
“Run…” he commanded.
He watched as she slowly scampered to her knees.
“Not fast enough!” he growled, lashing out at her with aimless limbs swiping and colliding with her chin and tender abdomen.
The jarr to her face ignited her sense of self preservation and she darted quickly for the door. It took everything within him to even give her a few seconds head start.
“One…two…” he managed before bolting through the doorway after her.
He didn't care about the hunt nor the chase, he'd been hunting her for months and now…he would finally have her.
The family dog took pursuit as well, concerned about the commotion. As he caught up to her quickly and wrapped one hand around her neck and another over her mouth, her canine companion knew by the scent in the air that this wasn't the time to intervene, this was raw nature at its finest.
The dog pounced around them excitedly before bolting back onto the sofa, settling down as he dragged her back through the hallway and returned her to the bedroom.
Casting her onto the bed he ripped open her side dresser and grasped the silken restraints he'd known were kept there.
He commanded her with a low and menacing growl, "Hold still," as he bound her wrists with a rapid urgency that paid no mind to finesse. The knots were crude, born of necessity rather than artistry… She was his now, and there was no chance of escape.
He vanished into the closet, a place where her private pleasures lay hidden, now subject to his marauding search. His hand, white from the tension, clasped an alloy handle, and he re-emerged as if from the shadows…a predator returning to its prize.
Shaking the tension from his arms, he advanced towards her…the metal tassels at the end of the handle whispered threats like a serpent ready to strike, announcing his impending intent. Grabbing a pair of panties from the drawer's contents sprawled across the floor he shoved them into her mouth.
She could feel the chill of alloy caress the nape of her neck and shoulders as he slowly crept the whip’s tendrils down her back…The chains he left to dangle between her thighs, barely teasing her snatch as he tried to slow his breathing.
Then…the sensation was gone. Everything fell silent and remained that way for an excruciating amount of time. She heard not even a breath slither behind her…it was if he'd vanished all together.
Her senses were taut with the straining suspense…he had honed this wait to a cruel art, each passing moment fraying her resolve until, inevitably, curiosity betrayed her.
She moved, an infinitesimal shift, driven by the desperate need to unveil his next maneuver. Yet it was enough. The moment she stirred, the biting lash of the alloy tendrils kissed her skin, a searing sting across her flesh.
A muffled yelp strained against the fabric wedged between her lips, the panties now a soaked testament to her anxiety and ***.
From the depths of her *** and ***, a groan…a sound threaded with the dark pleasure of her submission escaped him as he stood behind her. And then, without mercy, another lash sliced through the air, delivering a blow that was stark in its abruptness, in its uncompromising ***.
Once again she felt the bulging head of his cock tease her entrance. Sweet whimpers came crawling up her throat as he continued to tease and *** her. Another abrupt lash found its way searing into her inner thighs and subsequently she found herself snatched up by the hair to watch as the marks bloomed across her flesh.
Briefly she met his gaze. He wasn't snarling nor smiling. His expression haunting, neutral, almost entranced in his headspace.
It was as if each lash had transferred a portion of his emotion into her very essence. His eyes harbored no ***, no love, no concern, no happiness yet in them there was a soothing sense of pure bliss. There it was…the void…staring back at her… if for only a few moments he was allowed to be free from all thoughts and emotions…to feel absolutely nothing.
In his gaze, she was able to fully relax as well, offering her full surrender to the fleeting glimpse of the void. The hollow tranquility of their mutual escape was short lived however…as a grin slowly creeped across his face.
Although the beast had been silenced in those mere moments of her surrendered submission…it was by no means satiated.
He followed the raised welts on her skin with his tongue, a tender contrast to the previous harshness. The softness of his touch emphasized the heat of the welts, creating a tapestry of sensation that held her captive.
His journey continued until his tongue found the more sensitive regions of her flesh, teasing the entrance of her ass with deliberate hunger.
Her response was involuntary, instinctive…she gnawed at the sodden fabric between her lips, moans vibrating through the gag, each one a chorus of her ecstasy. The tracing of her plug with the precise tip of his tongue was exquisite ***, and she writhed under the skillful provocation.
But as fluidly as the sensation had begun, it ceased. He withdrew the plug with a deliberate carelessness that left her momentarily hollow before the void was ripped apart by the searing whip.
The lash engulfed her back, a firebrand that expanded its reach across her skin. The crack split the silence…a herald of ***…and the bite that followed coerced a new tapestry of red upon her skin, one that no tongue could soothe.
The abrupt shock ripped a scream from her throat that caused the panties to crawl from her mouth.
Casting the whip aside as to prevent any uncontrolled chaos he snatched her by the nape of the neck.
“Fuck!” she screamed.
“Not yet…” came his answer, followed by another command to run.
She knew better than to physically hesitate at this point and yet a whimpering “No" of a plea fell from her lips as she struggled to make her way bound off of the bed.
He chuckled in amusement at her writhing form as it slumped off the bed and onto the floor in an attempt to escape.
"There's no running, you idiot. Look at your pathetic attempts." Laughter, callous and taunting, followed as he pressed her face against the rough fabric of the carpet, his actions uncompromising.
With calculated patience, he introduced a lubricant into her exposed and yielding entrance, the cool slickness of the liquid promising more to come.
It traced a chilling path down her trembling thighs as she complied with his stern command, "Stand up." Her movements were clumsy as the cold liquid caressed her canal, it dribbled down her thighs as she fumbled awkwardly to her knees.
Without a moment's reprieve he snaked his hand around her throat, hoisting her up slightly as he ***d himself inside her. Her primal moans ***ed out by his hands quick snap to cover her mouth…He waited for the shaking and screaming to subside before lowering her head back down to the carpet.
Using her bondage as leverage he continued to thrust into her mercilessly, her screams now melting into ragged gasps and moans of ascending subspace.
The pleasure engulfed her mind, pounding her consciousness into a limbo where the lines between the divine and utter destruction began to blur.
Her voice, quivering with the weight of her predicament, rang forth with a mantra of gratitude amidst the chaos, a feeble attempt to find solace in surrender. "T-thank you," she murmured, the phrase spilling out relentlessly.
His inquiry was sharp with mock bewilderment, echoing in the space between them. "Thank you?" he echoed with a tainted incredulity. His voice turned to a growl, laden with scorn, as he posed the cruel rhetorical question. "For what? For using you like the little fucking whore you are, for fucking your shit up?" His fingers raked across her hips with a sadistic claim, drawing *** to the surface and leaving her branded with shallow puncture wounds.
As he wove his fingers through her hair, gripping with a *** that brooked no resistance, her body was contorted and twisted to his will. "Keep saying it, keep fucking saying it," he ordered, the command resonating with the power of his dominance.
The words became her litany, "Thank you… thank you," escaping through sobs, her tears etching lines of both *** and release upon her face.
"Fuck,” his whispered curse betrayed his precipice of control… his arousal edged to the brink by her litany of thanks, her tears, her very surrender. In a swift motion borne of his own overwhelming need, he released her, realigning himself to press against her yielding lips anew.
"Clean it off," his command was a guttural directive, rough with need, as he ***d himself into her mouth…her compliance, his for the taking. His breaths came jagged and unsteady, his claws raking across his own skin in a desperate ploy for anchorage amidst the storm of his own making.
Consumed by an insatiable hunger, the kind that gnawed at his very soul, his body quivered, every fiber straining under the intensity of his yearning. Desire coiled tightly around his reason, driving him towards the precipice of madness.
The snarl that ripped from his throat was laced with frustration and venom. "Fuck this, fuck this, and fuck you." The words were a tempest as he withdrew from her throat, leaving her gasping, her purpose momentarily abandoned.
Pacing like a caged beast, he seized a pair of scissors from the depths of the closeted craft box, his actions a chaotic whirl. With haste and a modicum of care that belied his boiling frenzy, he snipped through the restraints that bound her wrists, the blades trembling in his grasp, dangerously close to turning her flesh to ribbons.
As the silken threads and the scissors clattered against the wall, discarded remnants of their savage dance, he issued her one final, feral growl. “You think you can stop me?" "Stop me," he taunted, before lunging at her with reckless abandon.
As the maelstrom swirled, she exploded into wakefulness, the adrenaline forging clarity of purpose and power. It was survival, raw and unyielding, that electrified her muscles and sharpened her mind.
Her hand, seeking leverage, tangled fiercely into his hair, a grip both desperate and strategic. Her legs coiled tightly, knees drawing protectively forward, preparing to thrust outward. The other arm pivoted, a shield against his predatory advance, diverting his hand as it lunged for her *** throat.
Her teeth, a weapon of primitive instinct, found his flesh, sinking into his arm with ferocious precision. Guided by a blend of *** and fury, she harnessed his captured mane, twisting, forcing her knee to connect with his abdomen. The contact elicited from him a hiss…a sound that she clung to as her last efforts began to wane.
His retaliation came swift… a wedge driven between her resisting thighs, his presence an unrelenting ***. "Not even close," he whispered, the mockery a velvet cloak d***d over the cold steel of his intent. His bite on her ear was the harbinger of his imminent invasion, a firm, possessive claim before he drove himself into her core.
A scream seized the air as she grappled for purchase, nails raking his flesh, a frantic attempt to anchor herself to something, anything, in the tempest of his possession. She fought against the crushing weight that sought to envelop her, his dominance a relentless pressure that threatened to consume her very being.
“I knew you couldn't fight…why would you fight something that you were so pathetically begging for? I could sense your desperation, for this…for me…for your Master.” his voice was taunt, dripping with disdain.
He was right…she had no further protests. Slowly her legs wrapped around his waist as she pulled herself deeper into the ******** position. Her lips collided with his neck, sucking, licking and nibbling at the weathered flesh.
Her whimpers came forth, longer and more drawn out as she began climbing once more into realms of ecstasy. He could feel her grip loosening as she slipped away. His hand clasped around her throat, wrestling her breath from her lungs as she proceeded to thrash about.
"Cum, cum now," he demanded, his voice a dark incantation. "Or you'll lose consciousness trying." His words were a grim promise, a boundary set where pleasure and peril blurred.
Her compliance was not a choice but preservation. Her body stiffened, a bowstring pulled taut, as her ascent was forcibly hastened. Beneath him, she struggled, each movement an erratic dance choreographed by his accelerating thrusts into her cervix.
In her eyes, the duality of terror and anticipation mingled…he saw the abyss into which she teetered…a precipice of ecstasy she resisted to plunge from. His perception sharpened by sadistic insight, he discerned the ruse as her muscles contracted in feigned climax.
“No!” he growled as he released her throat and grabbed her by the back of the neck to watch as he carved his way in and out of her.
The sudden inflow of air was salvation, a violent rush filling her starved lungs as he crashed back into her with the relentless *** of a storm surge. In that moment she was able to let go… no longer having control over anything…her whole body began to quake violently as she shattered beneath him.
"Good girl, good fucking girl," he growled with dark satisfaction, words of perverse praise that fanned the flames of her disintegration. "Keep going... go," he ordered, the tone of his voice a rudder steering her through her surrender.
The sensation was alien, an uncharted territory where pleasure knew no bounds. The swell of her first true penetration induced climax washed over her, a deluge that cleansed years of repressed longing.
In this pivotal moment, her body capitulated, releasing waves of emotional and physical catharsis as she convulsed under him, a raw and primal dance of release.
A growl of satisfaction rumbled in his chest as he continued to pound her relentlessly, slowly allowing his own climax to build. She still hadn't stopped shaking, her body remained out of control as he met her on the brink of ecstasy.
Finally he succumbed to his pleasure. Finding release and shooting his seed deeply into the confines of her supple cervix. Guttural moans licked her ear as the sound of his climax sent her sprawling over the edge once more as they claimed each other with mutual fervency.
As they fed each other's hunger from their own flesh the thralls of passion consumed them until they found themselves entwined together in a mass of haphazard limbs. Their bodies entangled in an aftermath of primal yearning that could only be momentarily satiated by the merging of one another.
Fingers slowly crept along skin as they relished in the taste and scent of the struggle that had previously ensued.
Legs locked around each other as laughter emerged. In the stillness, he took a pause, his gaze meandering over her features, absorbing the silent language of her sated flush…With this he gave her a sly grin, reinforcing their mutual understanding that their night together had just begun…

With measured steps, He closes the distance between them, His hands clasping a collar…its significance immeasurable in comparison to its weight. His face is alight with fervent anticipation, His heart buoyant with the prospect of her acquiescence.
"It is time," He asserts, His voice brimming with Read more…conviction, I have found you…unfettered by hesitation, the one who will transcend all to cement her loyalty."
She listens, her soul engrained with veneration, ready to bend to His will, confident in the belief that, though His ways are enshrouded in mayhem, malice is not His essence.
"Ascend," He commands, His voice the key to her chains. He guides her through a serpentine corridor that culminates in a doorway, beyond which lies a cavern…the dwelling of an unspeakable abomination, the altar upon which her devotion will be proved.
In front of her, shaped from an amalgamation of carcasses and sewn together with coarse, raven hair a behemoth slumbers.
Its hide crawls with vermin that feast on the rot festering beneath its open sores. Its breath reeks of putrid flesh, while its three lacerated tongues, ravenous for the anguish they savor, twitch with a perverse sensuality.
Upon it, diseased flesh sloughs off in chunks, pooling at its claws, revealing squirming innards beneath, its barbed entrails writhe in agony seeking escape.
Its eyes snap open, revealing orbs that are clouded over with milky cataracts. They are a mirror of mortality reflecting her visage with vile intentions, in them her own body lies severed into a dismembered echo of the grace of life.
Its previously gaping maw now wretches wide to bring forth a primal scream, a cry that transcends anguish, a collective of lamentations torn from the throats of countless mothers, each holding in their arms the cold, still forms of their beloved ***.
She gazes upon the beast before her, not borne of hell, no…this beast is hell incarnate, a corporeal rendering of the inferno that bellows beneath the veneer of existence.
"Approach and kneel before the beast," He intones solemnly, His voice echoing off the stone walls. "For all offerings are built upon sacrifice."
The sole pathway to the terror is littered with the discarded husks of those who once transgressed, whose misdeeds laid them bare as offerings to atone for their affronts. Their flesh torn asunder, they are now but fractured relics.
As she slowly approaches, the beast grows quiet, its primal scream now replaced with a slow rhythmic beeping, each tone a stark reminder of breath and pulse… an electronic echo of a living heart's cadence within the hush of a hospital room.
With each step, she feels the chilling embrace of the expired, their hands caressing her limbs in death's cold grip, the vile snap of ribs underfoot weaving a tapestry of destruction in her wake. She heeds not the wails of these bygone sinners, her vision solely encompassing the gargantuan terror before her. Reaching the beast's shadow, she genuflects in solemn offering, her every fiber resolute, presenting herself as a tribute.
As both knees kiss the ground, the creature implodes, collapsing inward into a voracious void, the terror it evokes is no longer bound by the chains of flesh and sinew.
It becomes the penultimate ***….the unknown, a chasm devoid of light, expectation, or conjecture. Kneeling on the precipice of this event horizon she moves to cast her form into it's unfathomable abyss.
"No," comes His stern rebuff. "Your offering, while noble, is not what this abomination seeks."
A second presence echoes her own, its steps faltering in the dim light. Alongside her...eyes appear, ones that brim with purity… untouched by corruption, a shining beacon of innocence. She must now cast this untouched soul into the beckoning void, serving as the oblation to this malevolent deity within the gloom. She, the executor of a grim command.
As she beheld the untainted, her heart plummeted, engulfed by a petrifying dread at merely the notion of such an unblemished spirit tainted by this inferno's touch…a tableau of virulent despair. The zenith of subservience had long been her singular desire, yet ***ring into the eyes of the guiltless, she discerned no blight, not a smear of sin clamoring for redemption.
Her breath stalled in her throat, a roiling nausea seizing her as the precipice of commitment loomed…one final act, one concealed truth, a secrecy to end all secrets. Her arms encircled the innocent with a tremble…the verge of proof, the consummation of allegiance was within her grasp.
Yet she wavered, for the brink was a mirage…a lure to a fallacy of limitlessness. With a tender embrace, she soothed the unmarred and unfettered them from the bonds of potential sacrifice.
"No," she murmured, a gentle defiance breaching the quiet. "True servitude knows its boundaries…that is no illusion, but reality."
In her repudiation lay her sovereignty, her spirit unshackled. Thus, she turned her back on the path of illusory devotion and treaded her way home, no longer a supplicant but a woman liberated.

**Trigger Warning** - Reason: Knife Play
The underbrush swallows him whole, a juggernaut retreating into the wild unknown. She is left, a statue of resolve, her fingers white knuckled around the hilt of the knife. Doubts hammer her conscience…why did she embrace this folly?
Her role had always been Read more…that of the quiet conspirator, not the focal point of the hunt's lethal grace. Yet the thrill of the challenge had ensnared her wisdom… With a heaviness in her soul, she sinks to her knees, her blade carving paths in the earth, whispering secrets to the dirt of her domain, the borders of her sanctuary just a breath away.
The specter of failure looms, yet it is banished by a burgeoning self promise…a debt of fortitude she owes herself to fulfill. The murmurs of bygone huntsmen still linger, urging attempts never made. She toys with the thought of consulting the wolf, but his absence solidifies her solitary charge.
Her quarry's footsteps boom through the timberland, his profanities cutting the air in a fading cry. The fervor at the heart of his flight, the sheer exhilaration of being the coveted, lends purpose to his every bound.
With renewed tenacity, she stands, indebted to grant him this courtesy. Her blade remains embedded in the loam for she refuses to wield it …this time.
He flares with overconfidence, a beacon of haste, his pride his marquee, he will not hide... yet his uncertainty will anchor him relatively close to the well worn byways. Wisdom begs her to temper underestimation of him.
With calculated caution, she ascends the arboreal tower before her. Poised aloft, she secures her avian bone whistle to a branch, carving melodies from the zephyr's embrace.
In the distance she sees him, an image of tedium, pacing in proximity to the path's promise of safety. The woodwind annoyance of the whistle draws his fleeting attention, yet by then she is nothing more than a whisper of movement, weaving closer unseen.
In her silent pursuit, she scrutinizes his fortitude…no towering menace, but a maelstrom of muscle nonetheless. His earlier fray revealed the tempest of his fury, potent but quickly spent. She mulls the option of shocking him into a sprint, but the gory ruin he had inflicted upon a deer speaks volumes…***shed and carnage are but trifles to such a one.
In a flash of insight, she recalls the haste of his departure…no guidelines uttered, no safe words declared, no restraint placed upon the nature of their game. His ignorance of her armament…or lack thereof… could be her advantage. He knows naught but the enigmatic dance she has led thus far.
With deliberation, she reverses her steps, the deer's remains calling her to claim the antlers as her own…she sits with a small smile as she weaves them into her hair.
As dusk wraps its fingers around the woods, her ears catch the drumming of his steps, still wary, still within earshot. The stream provides her with a cloak of mud, masking her pale moonlit skin…amidst it all, the whistle singes the air with its ghostly wail, camouflaging the silence of her approach.
She senses a watchful presence, though she knows it is not his…his boasts still weave through the trees, far from where she readies her ambush.
She recognizes the crucial element as momentum. To bring him to heel requires the dance of pursuit, gravity as her unseen ally. Fortuitously, he seems enamored with the thrill of escape, the cardiac rhythm of feet pounding earth. Inflaming his passion for the chase appears all too simple a task.
She bides her time, merging with the oncoming night, a specter lurking near the trail his restlessness will inevitably draw him to. His empathic streak will serve her well, sparking concern for her apparent absence in the all consuming darkness.
As anticipated, time weaves but twenty minutes before he surfaces, sadly a moth to the false flame of her well being. From the veil of night, she emerges…her figure minute, yet infernal in the moon's dim glow, antlers casting a chthonic visage upon the ground before him.
His intrigue mingles with an edge of dread… her capabilities, unpredictable and witnessed, threaten his nerves. The absence of her hands from view strikes a chord of alarm, conjuring visions of concealed steel.
His voice rises in a hollow jest, but the silent specter before him holds her peace, approaching with a predator's patience.
With sudden zeal, she springs forth, a wraith set loose. His heart a drumroll of primal panic, he flees with reckless abandon along the path, shunning the treacherous embrace of the wild depths.
She diverges from the chase, her pace now measured, a strategic serpent slithering through the underbrush to a vantage further along the path. His audible labors through the dark are a beacon, confirming he has adhered faithfully to the path's winding embrace.
There, she nests, still as the ancient stones, a huntress veiled in patience. As he advances into view once more, his weariness evident, his nerves only slightly frayed, she takes his measure…knowing well the sordid depths of his being offer scant room for the tremors of ***.
She unravels the antlers from her hair, the chaotic spiral of bone slipping away. They fall to the forest floor, discarded symbols of the huntress she's become. A tripwire was her initial plan, the subtle trap of the clever predator, but there's no time…she must improvise…the moment must happen now. She must be the trap.
With a guttural cry, a chilling fit of giggles, she springs from the shadows. Pursuing him as she rallies herself with words in a tongue unknown to man.
As the chorus of foreign intonations weaves through the weighty air, conjuring an intricate veil of turmoil to assail his senses. The spectral echo of the whistle finds fertile soil in his trepidation, sprouting into full blown panic as he beholds her form encased in the forest's grime, a creature unchecked, her stare kindled with a sacrilegious glow.
It's at this defining instant that his survival impulse engulfs him…he doesn't know this woman…he is consumed by the pure essence of flight born from ***…
She surges forward as his stamina wanes, a lioness in pursuit of weakened prey. His lungs heave for air, each breath a gasp for life itself. With the pantheon of trees as her witness, she leaps, hands clawing skyward to wrench a fistful of hair, grasping it at the scalp to control his fate.
Being immensely top heavy, he meets the earth in a brutal symphony of ungraceful chaos, the ground itself robbing him of breath. Before the last echo fades, she mounts his stunned form.
Meager strength becomes irrelevant as she drives her knee into his spine with all her might, her weight an anchor upon his back. Though it may not shatter bone, the impact sears into his mind, a relentless reminder of her presence.
His mouth, once howling with exertion, now gasps in silent terror as she ruthlessly stuffs fistfuls of loam into it. Each morsel of the forest floor burrows into every crevice, a suffocating tide of earth muscling its way in…an invasion more intimate and complete than any weapon's kiss. Frantic, he ***s on the gritty sediment, the taste of his own demise bitter on his tongue.
As he battles for breath, she begins wailing in depravity…"I don't want to have to do this," she screams, her voice quivering, each repetition crescendoing into a maelstrom of frantic desperation. "I don't want to have to do this." The words, laced with an unsettling blend of remorse and inevitability, thrum through him, seeping into his pores, each utterance a harbinger of dread.
The ambiguity of her claim…the uncertain horror of "this"...hangs heavy in the air. His mind races, crafting horrors too grim to bear as his imagination conjures unspeakable ends.
The *** is not in what she does, but what she might…the unknown "this" she hesitates to unleash, a peril beyond mere physical ***. It is the immeasurable weight of what lurks in the abyss of her intent that truly terrifies him.
"Yield," she screams, the word slicing through the chaos, a command that leaves no room for dissent. He writhes beneath her, desperation clawing at his thoughts as he grapples with the unknown threat looming in her warning.
As she grapples to keep his arm twisted in its unnaturally contorted position, a thin line wavers between hysteria and stark, cold terror within him. His fingers, *** and exposed, become her next target. With a deceptive touch, she aligns a branch against them, the point pressing into his skin as if it were the blade of her knife.
"I'll cut them off!!"... "Would you like them permanently inside you!? I'll see to it that your own fingers claw their way into every orifice you possess!!" she screams with malice unbeknownst to any other woman of her statue, the vile threat violating his mind with its vulgar promise.
For that scant heartbeat, his courage flickers…a desperate thought to deny her capability, to rebuff her cruel intentions. Yet her teeth sink like a vice into the yielding softness of his trunk, causing his final notion of resistance to evaporate. The bite, a tangible echo of agony, brands him forevermore with the memory of this moment…a moment where she holds not just his life but his dignity at her merciless whim.
From afar, her spectral whistle drifts, the melancholic tune warping the once tranquil forest air.
What he envisaged as a frolicsome scuffle for dominance is perverted into a chilling ordeal… his expectations have led him astray.
The unsettling realization dawns upon him…he is adrift in uncharted territories of terror, ensnared in a game far more sinister than his naive desires could have fathomed.
"Yield!" Her cry, a feral echo, reverberates through the trees. In this moment, the huntress is an ancient ***, a savage deity to whom he must submit.
He breaks, his voice a shattering declaration "OKAY OKAY WHAT THE FUCK LADY!? I YIELD!"
Her exuberance is palpable as she pops to her feet, clapping with a zest that belies the gravity of what transpired. Below her, he's a puzzle of emotions, arousal now evaporated into confusion.
With a carefree toss, she sends the branch…the symbol of her mock threat arching towards him, her departure marked by giggling.
“Where are you going, aren't you going to claim me?" He protests.
"Claim you?" she retorts, her laughter tinged with disbelief before softening into sympathy.
"No... You're not what I seek... I'm sorry…" She whispers as she disappears into the darkness.

**Trigger Warning** - Reason: Knife Play
As she's musing on her own existence, a stately wolf appears by her side, his demeanor resolute yet gentle, encased within an aura of fortified strength and unyielding self-assurance.
His journey through the woods is etched in his confident stride. As he Read more…takes a seat next to her, his presence alone is an invitation to ponder and connect.
In his gaze, she seeks the hidden reservoirs of sagacity, while close behind her, unnoticed, a capricious creature draws near.
"FANCY A BOWL OF STEW?" the approaching beast proclaims as he lugs a massive buck, an offering of sorts, in his wake.
Her reaction is one of surprise, a glimmer of mirth flickering in her eyes. With a cautious wit, she responds, “I have a taste for such fare, provided it harbors no poison!"
His chuckle reverberates through the woods, a toast to risk-taking, "Life's too short for constant wariness…what better way to strengthen our resolve than by braving the occasional peril?"
She reaches out to the wolf beside her, lightly touching his paw…an audacious but not overbearing act, conveying support and a silent vow to return to his side at some point to delve into his depths.
Oblivious to his surroundings, the jovial brute throws himself into the task of dressing the buck, his eyes sparkling with the shadowed delight of the grotesque. His fervor for the recent chase pulses through him, electrifying and unfinished…an appetite not yet quenched. She observes the ritual of his meal's preparation, a muted fascination in her gaze.
"POTATOES!" he bellows suddenly, turning to her with a fervency that startles yet doesn't threaten. Brandishing his hunter's blade as he points, he makes his request known.
She meets his energetic demand with a slow blink and an amused, knowing smile, before seamlessly transitioning to procure his desired tubers from her garden's bounty.
She plunges her nails into the earth, clawing out a selection of potatoes, a subtle smirk gracing her lips…no shadows of threat or anxiety cloud her demeanor. She rinses the harvest in the stream's cool embrace before returning to him and setting them at his feet.
"Carrots!" he commands, his tone firm.
She meets his imperious demand with a look of mild rebellion, etched with a trace of challenge. Yet, she concedes with a grave nod and revisits her verdant treasury.
Emerging once more, she brings not only the requested carrots but a bounty of celery and an assortment of aromatic herbs and spices.
"Now we're cooking," the lively beast exclaims, his grin infectious as he points the blade in her direction, acknowledging the feast taking shape.
Her observation of his actions is interrupted by her own intervention, as she draws her knife, aiming it in his direction to probe his response.
"How delightfully bold…AND KINKY," the beast declares, his countenance alight with the spark of her provocation.
"What might you accomplish with such a tool?" he chides, tossing a chunk of flesh aimlessly at her.
Silence reigns on her part as he carries on, seemingly unperturbed by her display, relegating his own knife to obscurity as he hangs the carcass aloft.
Her approach is unhurried, the knife now an extension of her will to dominate the space they share.
He pivots, his expression composed, his air untroubled, his smile warm. "Would you grace me with the honor of using your knife?" he inquires with refined civility.
Her assent is met with a swift reversal, the knife now a delicate whisper against her throat.
"Such willingness to trust," he quips, his laughter rich and foreboding, yet stripped of venom…a darker jest shared between hunters.
"I want to play a game" he states with the undertones of a question, a sly grin pulling at his lips as he indicates the ropes swaying gently from a neighboring tree…a detail she had overlooked, distracted by his earlier antics.
"No cause for alarm," he hastens to clarify, "These are for my sport, not yours…but can you even craft a proper knot?" he challenges with an impish glint in his eye.
With a flick of his wrist, her knife vanishes into the thicket and with this she feels a twinge of dismay. Her eyes stray to his knife, laying seemingly *** by his belongings.
"Dismiss that thought immediately," he commands sharply. "Unless you intend to forsake all delights to come…. Now, listen closely."
"Confine me with these ropes… invest as much time as you require to ensure my captivity… Once you deem me sufficiently detained… hasten to the forest to seek out your lost knife. If you manage to possess it before I extricate myself, then I shall willingly become your quarry."
"But," he warns, his tone laced with a hint of danger, “when the sound of my approach signals your defeat…you must evade, for the hunt will have been ignited."
She considers him quietly, her resolve forming before she echoes, "Let's play a game…" Her demeanor transforms into something more formidable, a darkness creeping across her features.
She approaches the binding with relentless attention to detail and thoroughness, each knot meticulously executed and reviewed. As she labors, the initial confidence on his face slowly diminishes, replaced by an inkling of insecurity.
“Ready?" She asks, the amusement clear in her voice. His reply is a firm "Set." Without hesitation, she orders, "Go!" and bolts into the dense thicket.
Trust in her memory guides her to the last known resting place of her knife, but her concentration is shattered by the unsettling symphony behind her…first laughter, then frustration, followed by a cacophony reminiscent of infernal fury. He's not amused anymore…
Her attention snaps back to the task at hand, the urgency renewing her resolve as she dismisses his vocal struggle. The knife is swiftly located, the lack of pursuing footsteps a small victory. Yet, a sudden hush descends, chilling her spine as apprehension tightens its grip…
Knife in hand, she risks a glance back. The scene greeting her is a testament to his brute ***…most of the ropes lay in tatters, and yet, the one encircling his torso proves to be his undoing. His formidable musculature now hinders more than helps, as he fights for freedom.
Without further pause, she closes the gap, halting any attempt on his part to untie the knot.
"That was FUN!!" she chortles, her light-heartedness a jarring juxtaposition to his irritation.
"It appears I was mistaken," he acknowledges, a subtle bow to her prowess as she carefully frees him from the rope.
A quiet spell falls over them, heavy with unvoiced thoughts, until he offers a gesture. "Behold your accolade," he says, showcasing himself with a flourish.
However, her facade is anything but amused…impassive, stern. A flicker of disquiet passes through him as she begins.
"Ready?" she purrs.
"Set," his response comes with a hint of reluctance.
"Go..." she whispers.

(Hovering above the imminent spectacle, She adopts the mantle of an all seeing scribe, Her lips curling with mirth at such a peculiar entreaty. The thrill of dictating the imminent capers quickens Her pulse…She acquiesces to play the puppeteer of prose, all the while conspiring to stitch Her own Read more…shadowy humor into the fabric of the tale.)
…
In the quietude that enveloped the abode, He escorts her to the bedroom…a sanctum bathed in lunar glow. There they shed the daily armor, those societal veils that now pooled at their feet, forgotten. The blindfold He places upon her is not just a strip of fabric but a key to the carnal game they embark upon, its darkness heightening every remaining sense.
With the patience of a predator, He delineates the contours of this sensual contest. The space between them, now a terrain to be silently traversed, senses sharpened for the hunt. They would commence at the room's extremities, each other's scent the only guide in this labyrinth void of sight. The objective…to use only the minimalistic arsenal nature bestowed upon them…sound, smell, touch…until one can claim the other, crowning their pursuit with a nose pressed against the other's bottom.
And to commemorate the conquest, a bite…not marred by anger or malice, but marked by the domineering thrill of victory. A physical testament to the skill and stealth utilized in their silent chase. The constraints are clear… no brutal gouging, no clenched fists striking, no lingering grasp upon the other's silken strands. Discipline mingled with desire, a delicate balance to uphold.
As the rules crystallize in the dimly lit chamber, she acknowledges with a smile that dances in the darkness…a silent concord struck. The stakes are as enticing as the hunt itself, the victor to be lavished with the spoils of oral homage by the vanquished. With the finality of His blindfold in place, the stage is set, and the game is afoot.
She's a fervent little thing, her eagerness palpable as she lunges into motion at the command. Like a creature more wild than tame, she charges, her body colliding with obstacles, the thud of flesh against wood punctuates the silence. Bruises blossom on her skin, the dull ache a testament to her relentless pursuit.
He, a being of patience, relishes the symphony of her haste. He listens, a shadow against the wall, a smirk playing upon unseen lips as she fumbles in her frantic quest. The soft thud of her knees meeting ground, the sc*** of her palms…music to his predatory ears. When He moves, it is with deliberate intent. He stands…His footsteps though hushed, send a ripple of alarm through her.
Her reaction is swift, her body tensing as she sits up to guard her backside. Within moments she feels His foot caress her abdomen. She clings to Him, climbing…a spider scaling towards the web of victory. Yet He is a tempest cloaked in calm, with a surge of strength, He lifts her, denying her the finality she seeks. “Good game…you tried your best.” He chuckles in a way that belies the weight of his dominance.
In one fluid movement, He presses his nose into the softness of her behind…a conqueror laying claim…his teeth sinking into her flesh. She releases a sound, somewhere between surprise and acknowledgment…a yelp swallowed by the thick air of defeat. He deposits her gently into the corner of the room, her body a curled testament to the game's end.
As the blindfold is stripped away, her sight is returned, not to the familiar contours of His face, but to the grotesque visage of a mask, echoing the nightmarish aesthetic of Pyramid Head. It is a visage that chills the room as a strobe light has begun flickering behind Him. With a hand to her chin, He tilts her gaze, commanding her surrender with His presence alone.
"Open," He growls, the word a command that unravels her resistance...as she complies, He leans forward, the act not just of claiming His prize but marking His territory. Her mouth, the altar upon which He bestows His victorious worship.
(“The rest just use your imagination.” She giggles.)

He awakens, His body rigid with an undefined dread. The darkness of their chamber swallows the scant light struggling through the curtains, reflecting the tumult of His soul. His breath comes in slow controlled heaves, an echo of *** and His brow is furrowed with the shadows of a damning Read more…dream.
"What's wrong?" Her voice, a tentative whisper against the thick, oppressive silence.
"I had a dream…where I…was a hypocrite," He hisses, the words laced with venom and self-contempt. The confession churns His stomach like stink bait slathered across His tongue as it stains the air between them.
She lets the weight of His words settle, a specter of patience in the half light. "I understand," she says, recognizing the depth of His inner turmoil.
His shoulders, once a bastion of strength, now cringe with an unseen burden. He can't seem to shed the invisible chains of disquiet. "I don't feel in control of anything right now," He admits, a growl rumbling from within, the beast of vulnerability baring its fangs.
"One…Mississippi," His voice cuts through the stillness, a harbinger of the tightening noose of His regained command.
Her heart races…it's the beginning of a macabre ritual, a desperate grasp at the threads of authority slipping from His fingers.
The house sings a haunting melody of moans and clicks, each note a spike of adrenaline to her heart. She's under no illusion…He's already piecing together her hiding place. In the rapidly shrinking window of opportunity, she weighs her options…to contort herself into a seemingly impossible space, concealed yet trapped, or to stay unshrouded, granting herself the slim possibility of escape when He descends upon her.
The numbers toll, relentless. Nine Mississippi... Ten Mississippi...
"Ready or not…here come." As He lifts himself, His body responds to the morning's call, undeterred by His internal disquiet. Navigating the house is second nature…her favored haunts are known to Him as well as His own shadow. The space, though limited, cannot quell the thrilling pulse of excitement that revels in the impending chase.
She's nestled into her chosen sanctuary, yet a pang of vulnerability gnaws at her resolve. Meanwhile, He commences his stealthy voyage through their domestic confines, savoring the imminent shock He hopes to deliver. The bathroom yields no quarry, only the sneer of a half-drained shampoo bottle. Then, with a swift motion, He exposes the underbelly of their bed, but His little monstrosity eludes Him there, too.
His search intensifies, the silence of each empty room stoking the flames of His irritation. As His internal tumult rises, He's left with only the garage and the open air beyond as His final stages. Slipping into the garage, He approaches the vehicle, a dormant beast within its lair. His gaze pierces the car window, and there she is, supine on the backseat, her smile smug with victory. The car door, steadfastly locked, her possession of the keys a silent taunt.
His intellect is not to be underestimated, for He's weathered this gambit before. The foresight to secrete a second set of keys in His private alcove is His ace. Mocking her perceived victory with a grin, His exuberance sends chilling ripples down her spine. The rapid click of unlocking doors breaks the silence and before she can react, she's seized by the ankles. Resignation has taught her the futility of struggle, so she surrenders to inertia. Held aloft on His shoulder, her form unresisting, she feels the sting of His hand-once, twice-counting her defeat in Mississippi's slow rhythm.
With each resounding spank, she cannot help but emit a sharp yelp. "Nine Mississippi," He intones, the finality looming. Her voice, a breathy whisper, betrays her turmoil. “I hate you…"
"I know," He replies, His amusement cutting through the air. There's no "ten Mississippi"...instead, He opens the trunk and deposits her within its confines. "Sit... stay," He commands, His tone brooking no argument. The trunk lid descends, sealing her fate. He lays down the law…trigger the emergency release and she'll find herself bereft of pleasure for days on end.
She's encapsulated in the hush of the garage, left to navigate the expanse of her inner thoughts. An eternity seems to ebb and flow within the cramped space, until the toll of fif*** minutes ignites a spark of worry. Her mind races, dissecting His every possible mood…if His spirits were low, she could be facing a lengthy confinement. Distorted by the absence of time, she leans into meditation, seeking equilibrium, interrupted only by the rebellion of a hungry stomach. Her release comes after forty-five minutes, the trunk springing open to His chipper declaration. "GOOD MORNING!" His enthusiasm punctures the veil of her isolation. "Whipped up some omelettes and cleaned the kitchen. Time's up for me, I've got work… Get out," His voice is firm, yet not unkind, as He sets the morning's tone.
Emerging from the darkness of the trunk, her nude form unfurls, leaving Him momentarily confounded. She meets His bewildered gaze with a shrug, her words floating in the air, "I don't know…wishful thinking?" With that, she retreats to the sanctity of the house, while He sets out for His daily labors. Upon reaching His workplace, He unburdens the trunk of His possessions. Her clothes catch his eye, a personal memento. He inhales their scent, a grin curling His lips, a pleasant start to the banality of the day.