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 Weiterlesen… 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 breeding 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…

A Birthday of Apocalyptic Proportions...

She stirs from the realm of dreams, a soft yawn parting her lips as dawn's tender rays caress her face. Her robe slips, baring her shoulders to the cool whisper of morning air. She inhales deeply, the rich scent of coffee beckoning her to consciousness…yet, Weiterlesen… intermingled with it, the acrid tang of smoke. Eyes widening, she springs up, the silken fabric cascading off her in a flow of urgent motion. “What the hell is on fi-" she begins.

"Happy birthday to you..." His voice slithers into the darkness, a chilling melody that wraps around the room like a cold mist. Crouched low, a figure cradles a cake, the flickering candles casting grotesque shadows against the walls. Each note quivers with spectral dissonance, as if sung by a choir of wraiths hidden within the folds of the night. The familiar tune, now a dirge, portends an unknown fate as He continues, "Happy birthday to you..."

The timbre of His chant skews, a scant degree away from sane, each syllable laden with a funereal chill. As the melody curls into the somber air, it feels less a celebration and more a summoning…an invocation of the macabre to attend this most peculiar of birthdays.

Her response is curt, "No." However, He remains unbowed, His voice tinged with an amusement as dark as the abyss itself. "Come on…birthdays are fun," He insists, a Cheshire grin unfurling to reveal the depths of His malevolence. Her gaze falls upon the grotesque cake, its three candles a trifecta of derision. "Since I'm so generous," His voice cuts through the silence, as sharp as a knife's edge, "you are bestowed three wishes…three and only three. No loopholes for the greedy heart and thrice must your desires be spoken.”

Desperation wings her feet as she makes a dash for liberty, only to be thwarted by the sinewy appendages that He commands. They entwine her with an almost tender ferocity, a reminder of the inextricability of her situation and return her to the sanctum of the bed. There, in the shadow of her own hesitance, she is submerged in thought, hours becoming her silent sentries. Finally, the moment ripens and she leans forward, her breath a whisper against the flame, extinguishing the first candle…a beacon quenched in the ocean of choice.

“My first wish is for the end of needless suffering…if there is a kind of suffering that offers no lessons or growth, to be eradicated from the human condition. This does not remove *** or tribulation as a whole, only erases those current conditions humanity has yet to cure. This will not lead to a false sense of security and reduce humanity's drive to identify and counteract emerging adversities that are not initially recognized as needless.” She claims hesitantly.

Her inaugural wish echoes into the silence, meeting with no ripple upon the stoic surface of His face. "Next," He urges, a solitary utterance amidst the expanse of her anticipation.

She blows out the second candle…

“My second wish is for a clear cut, undivided and collective understanding of what is considered 'good' or 'better' to be instilled in the hearts of humanity. A universal agreement that brings some peace and prevents major conflict over differences in moral judgment. This does not remove freedom of will or dampen free thought, it serves as a balm in conflicts among themselves. This will not suppress individual and cultural identities, leading to an extreme loss of diversity in the complexity of ethical perspectives and philosophical approaches.” She admits with a sigh.

He inclines his head in acknowledgement, and then, with a gesture of finality, He waits patiently for her final wish.

“My final wish is for a steady seed of desire for personal and collective growth, an innate motivation to strive to achieve a world based on their universal understanding of 'good' or 'best'. This wish is to keep humanity moving forward, to evolve and improve, even in the absence of immense suffering… This will not cause minority views to be undervalued or oppressed, leading to a tyranny in which dissenting voices are silenced in the name of collective ambition.” She pauses before adding.

“Humanity will still face the struggle of accomplishing such change, they will still experience the labor ***s of productive growth. There will be new challenges that arise in consequence to such alterations in the human condition. There will still be wars, death, conflicts in opinion as to how to achieve what everyone knows is best…Yet there would be more hope that humanity could endure a bit longer with life pulling some of its punches and humans having a clear goal on what's best.”

"Very well then," He murmurs, the darkness now more pronounced with the candle's demise and the sun's meager offering scarcely lapping through the curtains. "Your wishes are granted."

Her alarm is instant, her body coiling into a visceral expression of ***…and He savors it.

"I'm just fucking around," He confesses after a time, a touch of cruelty to his confession…
“I possess no such wish granting abilities…and to indulge such fantasies would be to ignore the balance of action and consequence that rules us all."

Her whispered "Oh thank God" meets His ears, to which he deadpans, "You're welcome," depositing the cake near her coffee and vacating the room in His usual enigmatic exit.

O.R. The Puppies' Nightfall Cavort

(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 Weiterlesen… while conspiring to stitch Her own 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.)

No Multiple partners
No Non-monogamous dynamics
No Age & Race play
No ***
No switching

Quiver's Lament… The Archer's Angelic Burden

Like a sprite, she darts through the woodland maze, propelled by a quirky impulse to consult a grand bear on matters of the heart. Her eyes alight with mischief, she encounters the creature and implores him for his best flirtatious quips. He obliges, Weiterlesen… albeit with a warning of their possible cheesy nature. Just as she braces herself for the quip she thinks will come, the bear's outline blurs, morphing into an ancient tree's sturdy trunk. A flush of mirth colors her cheeks as she realizes her folly, tipping a woozy nod to the tree, "Excuse me, Sir…wrong person," she addresses the tree before she bounds away, echoing with giggles through the forest's hush.

Approaching a stream, the lunar glow adorns her, a soft sparkle against the canvas of night, emanating from the enchanted waters at her side. Here, a man appears. He observes her as an angel seemingly descended to grace this very moment with her presence. Within him, a quiet yearning stirs, pondering if love might ever bridge the gulf between his war-torn existence and her heavenly purity. Nevertheless, transfixed by her brilliance, he finds himself inexorably pulled into her sphere.

”Might you, so resplendent, ever cherish one as wounded as I?” he asks. Compelled by the sheer magnetism of her incandescence, he is drawn closer, as if her light is a beacon guiding him out of the darkness.

Her attention is captured in an instant, as if yanked by an invisible string towards his presence. The word "wounded" plucks at her compassionate nature, yet there's a steeliness to her bearing that belies a readiness to act, should the need for self-preservation arise.

“Around here, the unseen threats are as numerous as the leaves…” she remarks, eyes narrowing with a mix of intrigue and mistrust.

He moves closer, the innocent cast of his demeanor suggesting nothing more than a man bewildered, bereft of armaments… simply lost. Yet the forest holds its breath as the abrupt sound of snapping twigs to her right alerts her to the potential of hidden dangers.

Her attention stays upon the man drawing near, noting his lack of armaments, an embodiment of vulnerability rather than threat. Nevertheless, her senses are razor-sharp, primed at the edges of her sight, as the subtle prickle along her nape heralds an unseen presence.

"Here.." she elongates the call, a beckoning drawl, "kitty kitty..here..." the tension builds, a playful yet ominous lilt to her voice, "...kitty kitty kitty.”

Her tongue clicks, a methodical and measured sound, reverberating through the trees, more akin to the grandiose tick of a revered grandfather clock than a call to a feline friend.

Her keen gaze surveys the dense thicket, fingers tightening around her bow as she grips the coiled pressure pad switch with seasoned preference, the bow responding to her touch as if it were a living extension of her will.

The light from the bow's stabilizer cuts through the night, stirring the secrets hidden in the underbrush. "Reveal your mysteries," she demands, her voice an intoxicating blend of command and curiosity. "And while you're at it, enlighten me…what… is a pleasure sadist?" her tone laced with the thrill of the unknown and the confidence of one who knows the silent dance of predator and prey.

With the ferocity of a starved lion, the man explodes from the underbrush, his roar a cacophony of unbridled aggression, "Let me show you!" The words barely escape his frothing lips before her arrow pirouettes through the air, a swift harbinger of death. It makes its home deep in his gullet, silencing his snarl with a gurgle of dark irony as *** and spittle ***t a macabre Jackson Pollock on the foliage. "None. Of. That…" she states unaffected…her words slicing through the grotesque silence. She twirls, her gaze returning to the other man, finger wagging from the lifeless heap to him.

The term "angel" falls softly from her lips, a contemplative murmur, as though she's reconnecting with the essence of the word itself. She relinquishes her bow's tension, setting it tenderly by her side.

Delving into her pack, her fingers brush against the relic of a halo, an artifact that whispers of a role she bears with ambivalence. With a solemn gesture, she places it upon her head…a crown of ***d sainthood in a world gone awry. Her weathered facade softens reluctantly, yielding to an expression of tender care, a conflicted beacon in the encroaching darkness. “Pray tell, Sir…” Her voice conceals the inner battle she wages, the halo's weight a crown of thorns, yet her smile remains unwavering, “what do they call you?”

One Mississippi...

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 Weiterlesen… a damning 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.

He escorts her into the embrace of the woods, a realm where secrets are whispered by ancient trees and unveiled only by the bold. The moon, their ethereal accomplice, spills its argent light upon the earth, illuminating a stage set for the night's sacred ceremony.

In the seclusion of the clearing, Weiterlesen… He uncoils His ropes, each strand a silent promise of the bind that is to come. Her gaze is fixed upon Him, an unspoken longing mirrored in the depths of her eyes, as He commences their intricate ballet of confinement. The ropes skitter across her flesh, each twist and tie a deliberate artistry, manifesting the profound intricacy of shibari.

With every entwined helix that etches its pattern upon her form, she is further embraced by His creation…a mesh of lines that adorns her, a corporeal ***ting alive with every breath she takes. Bound yet buoyant, her form sways softly between the sturdy oaks that cradle her suspended swing.

And there she oscillates, cloaked in the bonds of His craft, a vision of joyous surrender. Her delight resonates in silence, a concordance with the nocturne, as she undulates, ensnared and elated under his vigilant gaze.

He admires the spectacle, the primal satisfaction blooming within Him as she finds peace in the restraints He has applied. Within this consecrated thicket, she dangles, a pendulum to the lunar deity, while He cherishes the dominion and trust that entwine beneath the watchful heavens.

He draws near, the distance between them diminishing with each purposeful step He takes. Her eyes, wide with anticipation, follow His predatory approach, feeling the assertive energy that radiates from His very being. The ropes, His artwork upon her skin, caress her curves as if to beckon Him closer.

Gently, with a dominant's sure touch, He traces the lines that bind her, His fingertips skimming where the fibers cross and hug her form. Her breath catches, hitching with every graze of His touch, an intimate dance between the bound and her keeper.

There is a tenderness within His domination, an affection that tempers the raw aggression pulsating within His veins. He cherishes her, not with gentle whispers but with a firm grasp that speaks volumes of His protective embrace. He explores her, each knot a landmark to be admired, a peak and valley of her bound landscape.

His restraint is a tangible ***, a leashed ferocity that He wields with precision. It is in the way He admires her, a lion regarding his pride, fierce yet reverent. And with every examination, Her trust in Him deepens, as she submits to the tension of the binds and the assertion of His love.

Her swings are now not merely movements but submissions to His will, the silent communion of two beings intertwined in this play of dominance and affection. His display is as aggressive as it is tender, a duality that only serves to intensify the bond they share beneath the watchful moon.

In an unseen corner of the nocturnal woods, where tranquility cloaks the world like the softest velvet, she sways gently in the embrace of the shibari ties that suspend her from the ancient trees. The motion is slow, rhythmic, a metronome ticking to the beat of the peaceful forest night. The ropes, her silent custodians, cradle her with each languorous arc through the air.

As she drifts in this tranquil state, the forest stirs quietly around her…a cocoon of serenity where He has left her to find reprieve in the cool embrace of the lake. The water whispers around Him as He swims, a solitary figure carving through the liquid stillness, His movements both cleansing and preparatory.

She, the picture of contentment, swings back and forth, each movement a brushstroke on the canvas of the night. The world is a hush of calm, the wind a murmuring companion, and the moon a watchful guardian above.

But the stillness of the scene is deceptive, for within Him, an intensity builds…a counterpoint to her peace. He slices through the water with growing urgency, fueled by an inner fire that will not be quenched. His skin, once cooled by the swim, now burns with an indelible heat that the lake cannot dampen.

Dripping, fervent, and alight with a predatory zeal, He emerges from the water's depth, His silhouette a testament to barely contained savagery. The juxtaposition of her tranquility and His impending eruption is stark…she is a moth flittering happily in the moonlight…He, a panther crouched in the underbrush.

And then, amidst the serene tableau, the stillness shatters. With explosive ***, He lunges from the shadows, a sudden bolt of raw energy, His every sinew strung tight with an insatiable ardor for the tethered beauty before Him. He charges, a gale that sweeps through the woods, surging toward her with such ferocity that it seems the very fabric of the forest might tear asunder.

In the dim light of the woods, her form sways with a deceptive calm. The silken whispers of the breeze are the only sound to disturb the serenity…until the snapping of twigs and the rustling of underbrush signal His approach. Her voice, soft but firm, pierces the night with a single word, "No," a Paradoxical affirmation, the code interwoven in their dangerous game that clandestinely breathes, "Yes, I am ready."

With predatory swiftness, He brandishes a knife, a glint of silver in the moon’s glow, and severs the ropes that bind her. The swing falls, and she with it, as He intercepts her descent with predatory precision. His arms enfold her just enough to slow her fall, not enough to spare her the shock as she collapses to the forest floor, the breath driven from her lungs.

Gasping, the earthy loam filling her senses, she trembles beneath Him…not from cold, but from an exhilarating terror that courses through her veins like wildfire. He looms over her, a dark shadow cut against the lesser dark of night, His gaze drinking in the sight of her scrambling for air, for grounding in the intensity of the moment.

His patience frays as he watches her regain her breath, the seconds stretching, tightening around Him like a noose. With a fierce growl, he tears the fabric from her body, her panties rending with the sound of their undoing. He stuffs the tattered garment into her mouth, a silencer for the screams and moans that soon will spill forth.

He rolls her onto her stomach, her hips jutting upward, an instinctual offering to the moon above. His hands shake, not with hesitation but with a palpable tension that electrifies the space between them. His fingers probe, rough and unyielding, a prelude to the impending storm that He is set to unleash upon her.

His body aches with an intensity that verges on ***, a stark contrast to her *** form displayed before Him. She, exposed and awaiting, He, coiled and ready to strike. The night air crackles with the *** of their impending collision, a tempest veiled in the guise of a Man and the quivering woman at his mercy.

For a fleeting moment, as the tension coils within Him, He pauses, a sliver of clarity piercing through the maelstrom of lust and dominance. He seeks out her hand, searching for the silent language of their sacred space, the signal that would halt all if she were not wholly in this with Him. Her fingers, though tinged with the earth's grit, are lax…no protest, no resistance, just the steady thrum of her pulse whispering her strength and her consent beneath His urgent query.

Overwhelming pride swells within Him at her resilience, her trust, her unspoken 'yes' that resonates in her quiet fortitude. It propels Him, kindling the frenzy that roars louder in his ***, the cacophony of desire that blazes brighter against the canvas of their carnal tableau.

With her face now pressed to the forest floor, an imprint on the soil that cradles her visage, He opts for further control, a detour in their dark waltz of power. Gripping her firmly, He drags her form across the landscape, the underbrush and detritus of the forest floor a testament to the unbridled nature of their encounter.

She is halfway between struggle and surrender, the sc*** of earth against her skin both a punishment and a thrill. Down, they move towards the moonlit lake, the air growing damp and heavy with the promise of the water’s edge.

At last, He halts their journey where the forest gives way to the shoreline, a merger of two worlds. Her toes barely brush the cool lapping of the water, the lake's surface a mirror reflecting the rawness of the scene. The chill of the night air intermingles with the heat from their bodies, a contrast mirrored in the dichotomy of harshness and exhilaration that defines their connection.

And there, at the precipice between the known and the unknown, He lingers, a beast savouring the tension of delayed gratification, the sweet *** of anticipation mirrored in every line of her waiting form.

She whimpers, a primitive sound, an urge crawling from the depths of her throat, raw and rich with yearning. Fragile tremors course through her body as He douses her with the cool embrace of the lake, droplets kissing her skin, a taunting preview to His enveloping presence. Her toes curl into the moisten earth, binding her to the very heart of nature as the chilly water sends rivulets down her strained muscles.

Ah, but such delicate whimpers…no, they are not enough. He wants her ablaze, alight with fervor to match the inferno in His veins. Without warning, His hand connects with her flesh, a harsh spank that reverberates through the clearing, leaving a stinging, scarlet handprint that blooms over her. The *** is a jolt, a lightning strike of adrenaline that drags her further from the edge of repose, a signal to every nerve ending that she is His to command, His to awaken.

The air is charged now, thick with the scent of arousal and soaked earth as He aligns Himself. Then, relentless and without ceremony, He impales, conquers…His cock driving home into her yielding, slickened pussy. He grips the shibari that enshrouds her, a testament to her bound beauty and his skillful handiwork, it serves as both an anchor and a symbol of the unyielding bond between them.

Her body responds instinctually, her walls clenching around Him in a fervent embrace, striving to keep Him nestled within. With ***, He pulls back, only to plunge once more…an unceasing rhythm that soon has both predator and prey ensnared in a dance as old as time itself.

His ferocity is unabated, a testament to His longing as He ravishes her in the shadowed light of the moon. The white hot pleasure of His thrusts, the gasp of air ***d back, the surprise slap, the rending scratch…all culminate into a symphony of raw, beautiful *** that courses through their intertwined beings.

His instincts sharpen, and with the veil of civility cast aside, a more primal, vicious aspect of His being takes the reins. It's an unspoken truth that hangs between them…the irrefutable fact that He is destined to draw out her screams, to unleash the symphony of her ecstasy into the hallowed darkness of the forest.

The muffled whimpers, stifled by the fabric of her own panties, serve as a muted prelude to what's to come. They are the weak stammers of passion that He aims to amplify…a crescendo He shall craft with every fiber of his predatory prowess.

He plunges deeper, harder, his cock a relentless invader that forges a path of searing pleasure through her quaking pussy, His movements grow more savage, an unyielding onslaught that drags her further from the realms of silence and sinks her into the cacophony of the wild.

Each whimper is torn from her, escalating in intensity, soaring from the depths of her throat until they rupture the air as primal screams…pure, unrestrained, a testament to the potency of his domination.

As He pulls her hair back, a stark angle that lays bare her throat, her sounds become a raw melody that pleases His ears. Then His hand snakes to her neck, encircling it with the artful pressure that only one who knows her body as intimately as He could exert without erring. It's a loving ***, a perfect balance between control and care, one that sends dizzying rushes of *** to her head, enhancing every touch, every thrust.

Feeling her cresting the edge of pleasure, her body tightening around him in waves, He can't help but hunger for more…more of her ***ed ecstasy, more of the mutual devouring of their connection. One hand remains steadfast at her throat while the other dares to embark on a new conquest, teasing the tight, unclaimed territory of her ass. Deliberate and with ill-intent, He prepares her for another ***…a claim on her body that will satiate His darkest yearnings and push her into the sweet oblivion of complete rapture.

To His expectation of resistance, a delicious anticipation of tension, she responds with a surprise that is unmatched…her body unwinds in His grip, muscles slackening in serene acceptance. It's as if the very prospect of His encroachment sends her spiraling deeper into a blissful state, a languorous surrender that beckons Him, tempts Him with a silence far from ***.

Her relaxation, a potent aphrodisiac to His sadistic nature, stirs within Him a gale of bewilderment. Her compliance, her serene yearning etched into the arch of her back, her breathy moans…it's a defiance of His expectations, a challenge to His control.

And He…oh, He is nothing if not intrigued, His shock swiftly usurped by the realization of her fervent desire. The truth sinks its teeth into the meat of His being…she is eternity captured within the confines of her flesh, and He is the beast, baying at the moon to claim it.

It ignites Him, a wildness unbidden but wholly embraced, His sadism now fueled by the Paradox of her pleasure. No longer just the predator, but an acolyte worshiping at her altar of masochistic ecstasy, He lets loose the reins and dives into the feral depths of His own cravings.

His cock plunges into her ass, a relentless siege that claims her inch by inch, each thrust a deeper devotion to the dark symphony they compose. He rams into her with a ferocity borne of the shock turned delight…heat and *** melding within the crucible of her ass.

With rabid insistence, He pounds into her, an orchestration of carnal conquest that shapes her cries into a crescendo of delight. Each stroke is a testament to their unspoken pact…the mutual exchange of raw power, the sanctity of their twisted harmony.

The fervent maelstrom of their coupling is a tempestuous choir of flesh against flesh…the slick sound of His cock, devouring the passage of her ass, the symphonic slap of His body against her skin. They are entwined, entranced, enthralled by the beautiful corruption of their dance, as He claims her in an act as ancient as time, as transcendent as the stars, and as relentless as the tide that pounds the shore beneath the unwavering gaze of the night sky.

Her whimpers, infused with the intoxicating blend of fatigue and fulfillment, are a siren’s song to his primal urges. He has ridden the tempest of their passion to its zenith, and He acknowledges the signs of her waning stamina with a predator's perception. Yet pride swells in his chest, a monstrous heart beating with adoration for the resilience she has showcased under His command.

With a deft motion, He rolls her over, her breath now mingling with the cool night air as she faces the moonlit sky. Her body lies heavy with exhaustion and the afterglow of raw pleasure, but He is not yet done stoking the fires within her.

Removing the panties from her mouth He dips her face into the water, a brisk submersion that jolts her senses back from the brink of slumber…a baptism of sorts in the midnight lake. Her lungs fill with fresh air as she resurfaces, the liquid serenade of the lapping waves harmonizing with the renewed urgency in her pulse.

His hands, those skilled purveyors of *** and pleasure, now seek out the swollen bud of her clit. With ruthless precision and the artful finesse that only the Master of her body could possess, He manipulates her tender flesh. Fingers dance and delve, coaxing the sweet release that builds within her core, a torrent poised to erupt.

Her body arcs, a bow drawn tight by unseen hands, and then, with an explosive rush that tears a scream from her lips, she squirts. A gush of her essence, a tribute to His mastery over her, spills forth as testament to the ineffable potency of their dark liaison.

Driven wild by the sight of her clenching around nothing but air, desperate for something to grasp, He mounts her once more. His cock, a rigid harbinger of finality, plunges deep with a singular goal…to mark her from the inside, to solidify his possession with the scalding warmth of his cum.

His thrusts are measured, laden with the weight of their imminent conclusion. Then, in a crescendo of flesh and spirit, He reaches his own summit. His release ***ts her walls in pulsing jets, the hot flood of his seed claiming her as His in the most primal act of ownership.

As He finishes inside her, their breaths intermingle, ragged gasps that serve as the closing notes to the opus of their union. He cradles her, a predator protective of his treasure, both sated and secure in the knowledge that their symphony of debauchery was one of mutual reverence and rapture.

After their tempestuous communion with the wild, they rest, side by side, bodies imprinted upon the soft earth. The forest around them whispers tales of their fervor, and as they bask in the quietude of the aftermath, her giggles fill the space…light, airy bubbles of joy that rise from the depths of her utterly content soul. She is radiant, the afterglow of their joined ecstasy casting her in an ethereal light.

With cautious tenderness, He lifts her into His arms, her form both a conquered territory and a cherished companion. He carries her home, her head resting against the steady drum of His heart, anchoring her to this plane of reality where pleasure and devotion have woven a tapestry of memories.

At home, He reverently unravels the shibari that had once bound her, a symbol of their connection, and now a memento He treasures. It is set aside with deliberate care, each knot and loop a word in the story of their dark ballet that he will safeguard and treasure.

As the warm spray of the shower envelops them, He inspects her form for any sign of harm, not a wound or a scratch goes unchecked. His touches in the cleansing water are soft, almost reverent…worlds apart from the dominating *** He unleashed upon her under the watch of the moon and stars.

A bath is drawn, the water kissed with the scent of oils and the promise of relaxation. He lowers her into the comforting embrace of the tub, her muscles sighing in gratitude as they unwind in the liquid warmth. He watches her, the water lapping at her skin, the contented smile that plays upon her lips, and feels an odd stirring…a sentiment that borders on reverence.

Finally, when fatigue tugs at the edges of her consciousness, He helps her to bed, leaving her nothing but skin and the soft sheets to wrap her in slumber. Naked and free, she curls into His side, the intimacy of their embrace surpassing the carnal desire that had once raged like wildfire between them.

In the sanctity of their shared space, He opens a book and reads to her…a descent, not just into a maelstrom, but into the very crevices of their souls. Edgar Allan Poe's words are a lullaby that carries her into the realm of dreams, a soothing rhythm that accompanies her gentle breaths.

And as sleep claims her completely, she is sheltered in the curve of His body, a predator now a guardian, watching over her as she drifts, the echo of their passion a lingering melody that cradles them both into the quiet night.

Relentless Reawakening: Snatched at Dawn

Beneath the ghostly caress of the moon, a delicate fawn trembles, her heart a frantic drumbeat against the stillness of the night. She stands at the forest's edge, the abyss of trees stretching before her like the gaping maw of an ancient beast.
"I Weiterlesen… think I can... I think I can... I think I can... I know I can..." The fawn whispers to herself, a litany of determination amidst the encroaching shadows. Driven by a *** she cannot comprehend, she surges forward into the fray of the wild wood.

The forest is alive with malevolence, a silent predator in its own right, its branches lashing out like Leshen for her soft flesh as it tears and rends. Thorns puncture the fawn's skin, bequeathing rivulets of crimson that adorn her once pristine coat with a macabre lace. Her eyes, wide with terror, reflect the chaos as she careens from one peril to the next, in each impact she's throttled with the promise of metamorphosis.

A cacophony of snaps and snarls fills the clearing where the fawn's flight comes to its harrowing crescendo. Bones warp, joints popping and contorting in grotesque origami, and she falls to the earth with a guttural cry that echoes the birth-pangs of the universe. Her skin, too tight and brittle, begins to fissure and split, a gruesome chrysalis of carnage from which her true form emerges with chilling splendor.

Muscled limbs stretch, growing dense with power, while graceful antlers spiral skyward, crowned with an ethereal glow. The taut skin splits along her spine, heralding the birthing of wings. With violent ***, they tear through flesh and bone, unfurling like banners of war in an agonizing display of *** and viscera that rains upon the earth below.

The Kirin stands revealed, her flanks heaving, coated in the detritus of her former self, the luminescent scales of her new hide reflecting the fractured moonlight in a shimmer of otherworldly beauty.

The woods grow still as if the nocturnal chorus senses the swell of a more profound darkness encroaching. The Kirin, still panting from her violent rebirth, senses it too…an ominous, pressing weight that suffocates the air and silences the once cacophonous forest. A primordial presence, it stalks unseen, its essence a roiling storm of ancient power.

The earth quakes beneath the Kirin's hooves, a rhythm of impending dread. She raises her head, nostrils flaring, each breath a silken mist in the chilling air. Her ears twitch at every ruffle of the wind, every quiver of the leaves. Yet direction eludes her… the predator is everywhere yet nowhere. The shadow hunts her, be it from ahead, behind, or beside, it matters not. She is the marked one, the chosen quarry for his primordial chase.


Poised for combat, she readies herself, steeling every muscle in preparation for a cataclysmic clash. But in less time than it takes to draw breath, the beast is upon her. Muscular arms envelop her and she is spirited away into the ink of night. Terror courses through her, manifesting in desperate thrashes and labored pants…blindness compounds her frenzy, the face of her captor a void. Her flailing and panting in the iron clasp of the unknown yields no revelation…his visage remains a riddle, hidden in the cloak of night.

Do you feel loved?

In the lush expanse of an ancient forest, where the secrets of the wild are sown into the earth and sung by the wind, a lone wolf wove his way through the tangled underbrush. His fur, a mantle of twilight grey, d***d over his solid frame, both a cloak against the chill and a Weiterlesen… veil for his isolation. His journey was one of survival, marked by the silent pursuit of prey, each step a silent testament to the solitary life he led.

It was amidst this ceaseless hunt that the deer, a creature of grace and quiet fortitude, crossed his path. She was a being of light, her steps leaving only the faintest whispers upon the forest floor…her eyes, liquid and soft, reflecting the world with a clarity untamed.

The wolf, predator by nature, honed by hunger and instinct, eyed the deer with a primal interest. Muscles tensed, senses sharp, he prepared to strike, to claim the sustenance that fate had seemingly delivered unto him.

Yet, as he crouched, coiled with the anticipation of the hunt's end, the deer's voice, clear and serene, floated through the air. "Do you feel loved?" she asked, an inquiry so startling, so laced with genuine concern, that it pierced the veil of his instincts.

The wolf faltered, the thread of his predatory focus unraveled by the weight of her words. Those words, colored with curiosity and an echo of something deeper, something he had not acknowledged even to himself, stayed his lethal advance. In that moment, the weight of his loneliness bore down upon him, a presence as real as any physical companion.

He stared at her, eyes that carried the wildness of the forest meeting her gaze, and the question lingered between them, an offering of peace from her, an acceptance of pause from him. The quiet that followed was no longer one of lurking death, but a shared breath between souls, a pause in the cycle that bound predator to prey.

The wolf, whose life was a tapestry of solitary hunts and quiet dusk, paused and considered her question. "No, not really," he admitted, his voice a soft growl wrapped in vulnerability. "The simple tasks weigh heavily when one is alone."

Moved by his candor, the deer ventured out and returned to him with food, a gift of sustenance and care.

When next the deer, harbinger of compassion, found the wolf wandering. The air between them was charged with the fragile threads of an unexpected camaraderie. "Do you feel loved?" Her words, like dew upon the morning grass, promised a renewal of spirit.

"Yes," he responded, the timbre of his voice softened. "For the friendship and bonds I cherish nourish me deeper than the hunt ever could."

Seasons turned, each bringing change to the forest, but their friendship remained…a steadfast enclave amidst life's shifting sands. The deer would visit, offering her heartfelt inquiry as a lifeline. "Do you feel loved?"

"No," the wolf would confess during days when the shadows grew long, "the touch of kinship has faded from memory." And so, with a gentleness that belied the wild, the deer held him close until the ache within him eased.

As time journeyed forth, unfurling new life from the fertile forest floor, the deer returned to the wolf's side. The world around them had been busy with change, the forest alive with the cycle of growth and rebirth. It was then, amidst this burgeoning backdrop, that she brought forth her gentle query once more.

"Do you feel loved?" she asked, her voice reflecting the newfound vibrancy surrounding them.

He met her gaze, an internal peace mirrored in his eyes, a testament to the journey he had traveled within his own soul. "Yes," he responded, a soft certitude to his words. "For now I hold love for myself within." She smiled genuinely and went on her way.


In the rhythm of the seasons, the cycle brought the deer to the wolf once again. "Do you feel loved?" she asked, finding him gazing toward the horizon, a yearning in his posture.

"No," he whispered, an ache for connection in his tone. Recognizing his need, she remained at his side, and in time, their union gave rise to new life…creatures of both leaf and fang, a miracle born from their shared solitude.

As time unfurled like the petals of a blooming flower, she would pose her question, a refrain that now held the innocence of their young. "Do you feel loved?"

"Yes," the wolf would smile, watching their *** at play, love embodied in their very existence.

Love, in its relentless embrace, can often prove to be as demanding as it is rewarding. For within time once yet again "Do you feel loved?" the deer queried, perceiving the furrow of his brow, the slump of his shoulders burdened by the toils of daily life and the energetic demands of their young.

"No," he exhaled, the weight of his duties and the unceasing clamor of their offspring pressing heavily upon him. In her wisdom, the deer stepped in, offering a reprieve from the relentless tide of responsibilities, allowing him to catch his breath and bask, if only momentarily, in the tranquility of her understanding.

Years cascaded like waterfalls, and the wolf, silvered and softened by time, faced her once more. "Do you feel loved?" came the perennial question, and with it, a longing buried deep within his heart.

"No, because you've never said it," he spoke truthfully, revealing the unspoken yearning for her affirmation.

Without delay, she offered the sincerity he craved. "I love you," she declared simply, her voice imbued with the gravity of a sentiment rarely spoken. “I prefer you feel it but if you ever do need reassurance please promise you'll ask."

And with that, they remained together, the rarity of those words reserving their utterance for moments of profound need. When spoken, they resonated with a fierce potency…a rare and powerful affirmation in the quietude of their shared existence.

As infants, we enter the world with a primal urge to possess, to grasp and delight in the objects of our fancy. 'I see it, I desire it, I claim it—it is mine.' And yet, through the twined lessons of nature and nurture, we learn the necessity of exchange, the dance of giving to obtain. Oh how I long Weiterlesen… for the unfettered days of childhood, when my moral compass did not waver at the thought of satisfying my wants.

It's not knife play... or is it?

To begin, we remember that the target is not knife play but rather *** play. In this instance the goal is to invoke anticipation, intimidation and anxiety. Although this *** play may involve a knife, it is not in fact knife play. *she pauses and waits until you Weiterlesen… entreat that portion.*

Alright so here is Bambi in the kitchen. her shoulders are raised and her entire posture tense. she appears to be mindlessly chopping away at a cucumber. In the background you hear the TV on, music blaring from another source, ***'s laughter, their playful screaming reverberating off of the walls as the dogs nails are tick ticking unsubtly across the floor. You know bambi all too well, she's in her head, overstimulated and flooded with thoughts about all that needs to be accomplished in the future. The amount of cortisol pumping through her veins is enough to make a legion tuck tail and run for the hills. she already wants to run but there's no escape from the mundane activities of life so instead she must freeze, fight or fawn. So since there is already an atmosphere of anxiety, you choose to interject yourself into it, instead of offering a hug or words of advice, you grab the reins and become the object of anxiety. You impose yourself upon her space thus snapping her back to reality because you are a realist and the present moment isn't something to be ***ed but rather experienced and embraced. Bambi turns to you, notices you and is clearly uncomfortable. "I have a knife" she states as a warning, as if that is relevant whatsoever to her current circumstances and everything going on within her. As one of the *** begins banging the cabinet doors repeatedly her pulse matches its rhythm with equal fervor. Do you offer a hand in lulling that rhythm? No of course not, you push further... for this is *** play. Instead, perhaps you place your hand on top of hers as she pierces through the cucumber or you adorn her with your hand as a crown on top of her head. You understand that her *** has nothing to do with a knife so instead you whisper. "You're stuck... you cannot escape... there's not enough time... you're going to snap and lose control unless you get out of your stupid fucking head..." Of course she's going to freeze because you've just cut into the core of Bambi. You're not brandishing a weapon in a brutish manner, you're using your body language and words to lunge into the very essence of someone else. Once you actually have her full attention you're able to remind her that "You are not in control...I am..or... am I?" as you give her a small smile and grab a different knife from the block and wander off into the bedroom to save that for later. And in this we have accomplished many things. Not only did we freak Bambi the hell out, we brought her back into the present moment, we reasserted our dominance and planted a foreshadowing/foreboding *** of the unknown that's going to eat away at her for the rest of the day. It's not always about free use and spontaneous actions. There can be a lot of fulfillment in suspense. Perhaps bambi assumes after all that transpired that there will be knife play that evening, her anticipation has been building throughout the afternoon but she comes to find him and he's just playing video games and demands his dick sucked. She goes to take a shower afterwards and the door slowly creeks open, she thinks that she's going to be ambushed but instead the knife is just carefully placed on the bathroom counter. A reminder of what was said and that she's never going to be in control. Instead of a night of ***, it turns into a night of discussion and revelation. She is bred not with a knife to her throat but with knowledge and intimacy.