A hefty lean against her raised palm, he had known Lucero was beautiful from an analytical standpoint, but there against that stranger’s bed… even though he knew it was but lust an alcohol steering wobbly thinking… the man wonders when the last time he took a creature so stunning to cotton sheets. Perfection, from the give of her thighs to the swell of lithe chest, hair like the tumbling auburn waves, Lucero wears his bite like marbled jewelry at her pretty throat and mewls with delicate voice and starry eyes, she is innocent. It is intoxicating, that naiveness. Young doe amongst the brambles, eager to shed blood upon the forest floor. That simple purity that makes Rois feel like he is upon the brink of ravaging virgin skin never explored by another’s hands, it brings him false pride, fingers twitch sporadically with every word that leaves her dainty throat,

“You can do as you wish.” Heated breath against her wrist, a voice twisted by restraint almost threatens to break pitch, “But rememberrr what I said… you are brave, but… that bravery will be tested.”

It was her last warning.

If that was what she wanted… then he would obey until told otherwise. The leash slips from dogs neck and just like a mutt to a bitch in heat, Rois spares her neither gentleness nor the romantic grace of softer men caught within the snare of lust; boots unbuckled with clumsy strength that firstly pulls the knights legs a little taught, thrown whimsically over shoulders to clatter noisily against the afar wall. The almost-tearing of her leather-snared pants off are done so with violence because of the damn embossed belt, he hasn’t got time for belts, the loop creaks as it snakes about her waist and joins its fellow items of clothing upon the ground with buckle clanking loudly against wood,

“Take your top parts off, now--”

The snarled out command has to roll in that moment like thunder cleaving the silence of their heavy breathing, because the second that her lower-half is laid bare the butcher knows speech will come muffled and soft and she is knees bent off the side of the bed till Lucero’s bedragged form is shoved upwards against the mattress by the forceful introduction of a heavy head slipped against the innards of her thighs-- red curls come to claim her pink belly, skirt her abdomen, tickle her hips. An eager tongue baring prickling heat bursts forth to delve itself deeply against the complex, slickened folds of her sex, swirl about loose skin petal-brushing his lips, they bare slivers of saltiness lapped up in staggered swipes with a moaned out grumble as muscle tip greedily prods against that flushed opening in a silent ask for permission-- no, no asking.

Those treacherous hands thrust Rabbit’s legs apart against her will. Now the grip is not so soft at all, now the safety of her clothes have been banished into the abyss beyond the bed Rois is free to really lend claws to tender thighs, twisted grip points inwards in another kind of heady bite, blood instantaneously blossoms against black as stinging crimson pearls as Lucero is denied the pleasure of letting those thighs snap against the mans skull-- mouth closes to catch lips in contrast so softly it is nauseating. Fang point gently kneads delicate flesh, taking her tightness in with a hasty suckling that sends tongue-looping about the stiffness of her hardening clit, all hot breath and wetness and minute gnashing motions, rolling swallows of saliva and arousal and flighty hums of giddy delight. Blood creeps thinly down Lucero’s delicate curves to pitter-patter drop by drop against once clean sheets, voraciously he wishes for them not to be wasted on fabric, they’d be better spent against the back of his throat, but there were more pressing matters... a little play never hurt anyone. Forget asking. Forget taking.

Rois wanted to hear her whine and cry out and beg--

Denied the luxury of comfort, every shifting of her legs would drive nail-points deeper, Rois would also deny her the pleasure of insertion by way of lips shifting against her with prior promise broken, words are damp and stifled and cushioned by velvet-flesh,

“Come on, then,” The heat of his passion kisses the woman’s sensitive folds like fire-brand, teeth-threat, an eager jostling of a head, demand, he nudges her roughly forward with a feral head nod but locks arms in place, the wounds snag upon tenacious hooks and tug and widen and the knight is caught hound to rabbit, “Show... show me how badly you want it!!”

Those colours again. They are coming to sweep the sun-kissed tan of her skin with their wonderful array of natural hues, scent rising, copper and salt and the fanatical heat of sexual excitement.
 
He took off her shoes, she took off her vest, he undid her belt, she undid the second layer of light padded armor, her pants hit the wall, she pulled her tunic up and over her head. Lucero was in the middle of rolling the skin-tight camisole up from the small of her waist when she felt the cool air that greeted her soaked sex.

Copying Rois almost mockingly Lucero bundled her undyed camisole into a ball and threw it over him. Arms went to cover her pale, teardrop breasts that contrasted against the dark rosy brown buds peeking out between her tanned fingers. Shadow carved out easily the shape of her ribs, the almond shape of her belly button, the jut of hip bones just as Rois moved his big, stupid red head between her quivering legs, moving and shoving Lucero like she were a doll for him to use.

His hot breath against the hottest part of her, Lucero only flinched when she felt a fang against velvet dark petal folds and silken arousal, his tongue tender. Breath hitched in her throat, her milky gaze staring up above at nothing for a moment, now only a dazed deer in the shroudlights, letting the sensation spread over her lower stomach, deep inside a spot that only Rois would be able to reach.

At first she winced before the big, dumb grin spread across her face as his claws dug into her. She felt the sharp slice and burn of cuts, feeling something warm and wet begin to trail down her legs. It hurt, and she made a sound that was the same sound she made when she accidentally burned her hand or walked into a sharp corner. Luero squirmed, her chest heaved once before Rois took her out of her mindless daze with the rumble of his deep voice.

"You... want me... to show... you?" She gulped the breath between words as if the wind had been knocked out of her, every flinch and twist getting his claws cutting her deeper in his briar like grip. Lucero now stuck in the inbetween of believing that things would get worse if she acted or things would get worse if she didn't act, forget flight or fight, freeze or fawn, his claws and his aggression would do as they pleased to her....

Fuck, she loved it. Sharp pain dulled by the wave of endorphins washing over her that galvanized the warm and fuzzy feeling of the alcohol. Her body a blank canvas, a masterpiece waiting to be marked and marred, red rivulets to drip quick and watery.

In her twisted little mind all she felt was power. It hurt because she let it hurt, she was in control; all she had to do was say 'vanilla' and this man, bigger and stronger and hard as a rock who was pressing his mouth more against her lower lips despite it surely not giving him any pleasure (everyone knew men hated doing this, her ex had said as much) would stop. Lucero whimpered, sucking in a breath alongside her soft whimpers to better hear the obscene, sloppy, guttural sounds Rois made.

"You're right there... just... open... your... damn... eyes and take... a fucking... look." If saying 'vanilla' made him stop what would this stupid stubbornness do? Lucero stopped hiding her breasts, hands going to the wide curve of her hips, easily finding where his hands anchored her thighs in place. Warm blood scooped up on her fingers and held in front of Rois's nose pressed into her black curls. "You w-want me... to feed you... t-too? Here - ah! Lick. B- bitch."
 

And she liked it. She liked the way pain blazed up tattered skin to nails, liked the way the warmth pooled at the creases of her legs, Lucero squeaks breathlessly in a question that should have been expected in all honesty… just another lost soul on the haggard path that had been innocuously labeled by many as ‘harder stuff’. This was nothing, this was gentle, her laborious squirming was delightful but if she wished for more, then, by the womans own admission… she would get more.

Fingers suddenly snapped at by wayward bite that purposefully misses, two headed hydra, Rois wanted that blood so badly that immediately his attention is pulled away from the reddened slit at his lips to wind a tongue instead hungrily against blood-soaked nails, the taste sent a rack of shivers down his hulking body, no, no, stop, a bark of a growl, mouth leaves those once ruby-tips clean,

“Y-you impatient--” Sneered with teeth clashing against the side of Luce’s slobber-glistening hand, a pink strand of saliva joins her palm to his teeth-- “Wait... you brat--”

Brat…! Maybe he is a bitch for wanting her pleasure to come first, but ladies had this spectacular little trick that led them to orgasm once or twice or twice and he… once. In his laws of life, the woman had to go first, and as eager as the butcher was to have that hand half way down his throat he could not leave the heat of her arousal to settle so quickly, she wanted fast? Fine. Knee to bed makes it creak, just the one, her spread legs are bucked as a thick, textured tongue immediately thrusts itself into an eager hole twitching for relief, as deep as he can, so deep he cannot breathe and breaks into slow, wet snuffles with nose pressed harshly against clit. Did she like that sound? Did she like the strained wheezing as his tongue floods the knights innards with a wettened warmth of a different, a tactile kind, prodding tip grazing against inner, tender bumps and succulent lining in a hungry, forceful collection of curled licks, it collects her release like oozing honey to be glazed against nub in a thick smear… inhale the scent of her adoration, exhale near-sweltering air, swallow down the mixture of salty sweat and sweet cum with a hum of appreciation. Again and again it comes to steal parts of herself away, till the inside of his mouth is just Lucero, she is at the back of his throat, the tip of his tongue, the spots between his teeth, everywhere--

Rois wanted her everything, wanted her to spill into him, it gets harsher, wide-opened mouth engulfs her from the base of tender sex to the very top with strained jaw and gentle, bassy trill, point of fangs slip against moist akin and claim her entirely with astonishing sweetness; but not without pressure. Heated breath like sauna steam fogs her bleeding thighs as prickles such sensitive flesh with its fervent touch, teeth grasp, folds clasped gently by trained fangs that physically shiver against Lucero, ever so slightly… ever so carefully… tug. Scrape. Tug with lashing tongue still working, with thighs still imprisoned by claw-snag, a dog tugging at his bitch, give me it all… bruising at her underbelly.
 
Last edited:
A laugh escaped her as he snapped at her like some cat enticed by a hunt, the sound softening as he licked at her fingers. Playful as she moved her fingers against his tongue, nails digging into the moist muscle as if he would dare miss a spot. She was a brat, distracting him, looking smug as she did so. Victory was nearly hers until he delved deep into, seeking nothing else but to undo her.

"No, don't," she whimpered, pathetically, the sort of sound that could only ever be pitied and nothing more. Lucero gripped his shock of red curls, hand still adorning her fingerless gloves. Despite her dismayed words, she held his head tight against her, eyes shut tight, a face twisted in pain. Her cunt clenched despite all his hard work, strong nose rubbing against her sensitive clit, moving the protective hood up unintentionally to send sparks against her entire body.

Despite the pain, his claws, Lucero twisted and shifted, crying out sweetly like there was any surprise to it. Her high pitch, the subtle gasps, all of it a layer to the lewd sounds he made against her, sucking and slurping, trying to fight the pleasure was like attempting to win an uphill battle.

"Rois," Lucero cried out softly, covering her face with her hands, only her eyes and forehead revealed for him to see. "I... don't... wanna.... No." But it was to herself, not him. To relent to him felt like giving him victory, he moved against her while she did her best deny his satisfaction, mounting pressure and pleasure, she felt it building within her, a ember she could not snuff out.

When she used her hand for her own pleasure, she could feel everything, knew the tempo, but when Rois suckled at her, tongue reaching inside her, Lucero growled, low and guttural and entirely unlike a lady, completely unlike the healer she tried to present herself as.

Rois's tongue and it's warmth was too much, her body tingling, her heartbeat feeling like a war drum between her legs, mounting pleasure taking over her body, ignoring her brain, her heart. Mouth stretched open wide, breathing erratic, body moving in ways she had little control over, only instinct, thoughts turning from opaque clarity to transparent sensuality.

He ripped her senses apart from her, annihilated them, forced her to melt into a puddle riddled with pleasure, slowly losing all control she had of her own body. Lucero was helpless against him, and she would not attempt to refuse him any longer, finally slipping into the bliss of sweet, sweet release that would find it's way upon Rois's probing tongue.[/wheat]
 

Sweet mewls of stopping but never that word, never a begging to halt in the assault, it felt unclean to admit out loud that when the tender-hearted prey of his teeth collapsed into fits of squirming pleas it only made him want to drive them up the wall with ecstasy. Their pleasure was his, knowing their minds were yelling out to resist but their bodies were denying them the right, unconscious action, the thrill of being betrayed by your own flesh, it was just as erotic as the spilling of Lucero’s love for his tenacity upon the man’s lips; pulsing canal longing to hold something, shivering bones, the rolling of muscles gripped tight by orgasm. True to promise, Rois took it all. Lapped at the sensation until the only wetness there would be from his tongue alone, a fiend for every drop of deliciousness spent--

But as her heart fought for a steady beat and breath saw rib-cage rise and fall mountainously for air, the butcher would not allow her rest.

Rabbit is basking in an unseen sun for only a second before the second attack begins. Head twists, addresses each thigh in turn and that now familiar tongue begins to slither its excited way against the prior bloom of sore wounds stinging from agitation, till no more blood would come, till the crux of his lips are red… and movement. Both knees meet the frame, the splay of clawed hands plant themselves harshly against the top of the woman’s arms, skull-dip to take teeth far harder than they had at Luce’s lower regions to the swell of her belly in a sudden grab at the soft, heaving mess of tissue. She feels those teeth pop through her skin, point by point by point. Blood wells but never makes it to stain her sides, it too is snatched up to be swallowed down by the noisiness of a powerful throat ever-eager to welcome her inwards-- and when the spot weeps no more? From the butterfly wings of bruising at her center attention turns upwards, furls of ruby skirt her throat-base, higher--

Between scissor-like grip he first plants his ‘O’ shaped mouth upon the raised bump of a single breast to test jaw against the mass of soft, plush flesh… and then narrows it down. Mouth closing sees teeth rake lines sternly both above and below to wind thin red streaks down to an eager nipple perked, Rois is not so savage there, too sensitive, gently, gently, takes it against fangs to squeeze with tongue-tip exploring its tight, unopened slit. Red is pooling at the hollow of the healers throat, twirls heatedly against collar-bone, the man begins to bear his tremendous weight down upon her… mattress sinking, bones aching, her body creaks just as the bed was doing. Her arms are forced downwards in a pin, another denial of movement, he would open his mouth once again to swing that bite around to test the other nipple a little harder…
 
Breath seized in her chest, a silent scream that made it hard to tell if she felt pain or pleasure. Both washed over her violently and she still pulsed for Rois as he licked at her wounds about her thighs, soothing their stinging, toes still curled as she flinched and swallowed the soft moans at the back of her throat. Right as she managed to suck into her a large mouthful of air, Lucero felt his teeth pierce her soft lower belly.

Face twisted into another silent shout as she squirmed against Rois, head thrown back against the bed. Her back arched, hands going about his head to grab fistfuls of his soft curls to shove his head away, legs pretending that they would kick him off of her. Instinct was once again telling her to run like the rabbit that she was, but just as suddenly as Lucero had moved, she became still once again. Enduring through the pain, the familiar trickle of pleasure floated about her, briefly lessening the sharp cut that had her grunting and hissing in attempt to keep her voice down.

Her only comfort was Rois' tongue and beneath her hot skin, Lucero quivered uncontrollably, unable to stop the tremble of her muscles even if she thought hard about it. The pain of her inner thighs was nothing like the throbbing agony about her stomach. Starving dog pulling out the soft, slimy nutrient dense metallic richness of guts and innards from a stupid rabbit. Breath hitched in her throat when he moved onto her breasts, careful with a part of her she was afraid to admit how sensitive they were, that every playful prick between his teeth and the strong swirl of his tongue sent lightning strikes of pleasure towards her cunt.

Crying out softly through the pain, for a second Lucero held his big head against her breast, shoving her chest against his face. Only when her arm slid down to the back of his neck did her elbow feel the scratch of his clothing.

"Jerk," said with a smile and hands left their hold around his head to fumble with pushing his shirt up, pants down, struggling with the weight of his body taking up the space she needed. "You're not being fair," Lucero did nothing to hide her bratty whine of discontent, "only I'm naked. You're going to get my blood all over your clothes." She shivered at the thought of him wearing her blood, it drying into the fibers, permanently staining it, pieces of her forever entombed within the labyrinth of thread. The healer wasn't delusional enough to think that he wouldn't toss it away the moment he had a chance to put on something clean, something without her.

With her bent knees she did her best to squeeze his thick waist between her slender thighs. She used her feet to further her attempts in shimmying his pants down and over his hips, finally starting to get somewhere. One hand reached down, easily finding his hard length and wrapped her slim, long fingers around him, finally pulling him free from the confines of clothing. Thumb on the smooth head, the rest of her hand pulling down the velvety sheath of skin before smearing about the tip the hot wet drop that kept Lucero's ravenous smile wide across her face, mirroring only a fraction of the hunger belonging to gluttony.

Achingly slow, long strokes from tip to base, her grip firm, sure in every flick of her wrist when she twirled it around the sensitive head. Lucero didn't lead it near her lower lips that were intent on ruining Rois' hard work in cleaning her up, but instead against the burning agony about her lower stomach; little blood blossoms budding up against the bruising to be flattened out by the underside of his thick cock.
 

“... Huh?”

… He does not know how drunk he is.

Mind devoted so wholly to pleasure leaves him a little lost when she is no longer making those soft chatterings of pain that make the mans skin crawl with explicit desire, as if every utterance was birthed to deliver him higher and higher into a stunning delirium of lopsided movements and burning heat, hotter than his own body could ever produce… fire. Fire like entire forests engulfed, fire that glimmers white in its tenacity, dark blood burns; it is this fire that sees swollen prick desperate in its strained throbbing, begging for sweet release, caged by pants the butcher had well and truly forgotten about amidst the will to bite-- when Lucero’s fingers come to swaddle his skull the weighted object lulls in her hand… a dog leaning into a sweet pet. Words… barely composed, are branded against her sternum,

“... Clothe-ses… blood, yeh…” A wavering, drooled pant, wondering so tenderly why the loving embrace had flown his skull? To tease the edges of his shirt, to slide it roughly against sweated skin, it takes him a few moments of errant blinking to realize that no sex is not usually an act you keep your clothes on, and with a straightening of his back Rois begins to… try to take it off. All clumsy arms and blood-flecked hands roaming and tugging with mild frustration and the stupid slowness of a muffled brain, the damn thing is flung off eventually-- and it was a great distraction.

Because whilst Rois was busy being a drunken fool his body was reacting wonderfully to the sudden rapt attention against the center of his arousal, dark, slick flesh fills her hands with a furious, brisk pulse crawling up and down its starkly veined length to test her palm-- the moment skin slides from a head as red as the furls upon his skull it begins its pathetic, dreary weeping, it begs when he doesn’t-- it coats the healers sensitive finger-tips with bestial-heated pre so thick it does not wind, it does not run, it beads like pearls and dances against the whirl of her tips like heavy cream... glossy smears of warm, warm desire.

And the man was completely oblivious to Lucero’s slyness, even when bleary eyes return to her sprawled form he does not realize where those flighty hands had ventured until the stroking begins--

--------All at once, with a gasped yowl of mixed emotion, she causes his thick hips to savagely buck against his own damn will.

It is actually so startling to him that Rois does not actually put out arms to catch himself, the violence of the motion sees the giant topple forward with back like a suspension bridge arched up high, shoulders lifted and muscles tensing all at once, Lucero is squashed beneath the softish expanse of pectorals suddenly crashing down to smother her from above-- and he does not instantly get up, either. Gulping down air with the slither of a great quake shaking dense bones the man tries to gather wild thoughts as his companion struggles for air, bad trade off, but the shining side of such sudden suffocation is the feeling of the butcher’s grand heart fluttering against Luce’s plush lips in splendorous over-excitement,

“Sorr-ee, sorry, fuck, I-I, I gots,” Clipped words shortened by hurried panting, two arms dragged forward finally release the flattened girl from the abundence of weight that had sought to crush the knight so… and the poor devil is a kind drunk. Far kinder than his usual self-- sadly for Lucero-- unfinished sentence was supposed to be ‘I gotta’ fuck you right now’ as indicated by the half-beasts mechanical twitching, the denial of rutting, as foggy as those eyes are they are aflame with want, yet-- even as below sees their joining a sword is not sheathed. Still. Still. It sobs upon her belly in an attempt to hold back, thick silken strands glazing red-smeared planes, the denial of orgasm is causing that full, shaved sack grazing Luce’s zealous woman-hood to flinch-tighten in anticipation-- YET…

“Awe… you… okays…”

A downturned mouth… concerned eyes… how sweet!
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom