I Am The Thorn King, The Lord Of Brambles free porn video

I Am The Thorn King, The Lord Of Brambles

CHAPTER ONE

I like sunsets, but perhaps not in the traditional sense. If asked, I'll agreewholeheartedly that the oranges are spectacular, that the reds complement thepinks, that it is romantic. The beauty for me, however, lies to the East. Iturn from the sunset to watch the night-rise. The way the last rays of thesun strike the high, craggy mountains of my homeland to give them a pale bloodiness.The clouds, bruising from purple to a smoky blue, stretching where they will.The smell of night, that after-a-rain clean musk of soil and breezes carryingsap on the wind. The sound of it; that first swell of frustration and struggle,the dead in the middle of the night, the quickening of the early morning. Thecruel power I feel growing in me as the sky dies from blue to black. The stirringin my abdomen, the heat in my chest, the hunger speaking to me from my loins,the blood surging through my body ? they tell me that now, now is the timeto fulfill what I am. A sadist.

I started early, though I wasn't exactly aware of it. I learned to read ata very early age, about three. I could read textbooks when I was five, andby chance I came across an anatomy and biology book. My mother, a biologist,always had lots of these lying around. Thus, I learned the hidden places ofpeople and what the physical act of sex was. By the time I was about six, Irealized that I found the girls in my class to be quite attractive, while Idid not find the boys to be so. I had crushes, but of course that was as faras it went. I remember a crush I had on one particular girl for about fiveyears. The usual story ? like somebody for a long time, but never really seemto get around to telling them. The suspense of unrequited puppy-love is almostbetter that way, when you're so new to the world. Can you imagine what it wouldbe like if a tiny Korean girl, so perfect in every way, came over to a shyblonde boy (such as myself), kissed him, and said ?Hi, sweetie!?? Can you?I probably would have turned red and run away, never to rejoin the dating scene.So no, we were just very good friends, and she slugged me in the chest whenI said that she looked pretty in the pink dress that her mother had shovedher into one day. So I learned to be around her, and hide what was inside myheart and in my thoughts. Which, as it turned out, proved to be very usefulto me in another respect. When I turned seven, I began to have dreams.

Many women, naked, are in rows on either side of me. What's that behindme? A very big man. He will do what I tell him. The ladies are in very weirdwooden things, bent over at the waist like those high school girls who leanover counters and car hoods to talk to people. Their hands and heads areheld by the heavy wooden stocks, and they cry a lot, but they can't get free.I won't let them free.

One of the ladies doesn't cry. I stop in front of her, look her in theeye. Dad always says that when you meet someone, you should look them inthe eye. She does not cry, she stares at me.

?Why don't you cry?? She doesn't answer my question. She should not dothat. If somebody asks a question, it's very rude not to answer. She oughtto know that. I wave my hand at the big man. He walks to her breasts ? they'rekind of big. He grabs one at the tip, and starts to squeeze and twist. Thelady still looks at me. She's starting to cry, one tear at a time.

?Don't cry,? I say, wiping a tear away. Then I wave at the big man again,and he grabs her other breast, at the tip, and twists very hard. The ladystarts to cry very hard.

?Why didn't you cry when I wanted you to? Don't cry.? I wave somethingdifferent to the big man again, and he pulls out a big clippie thing. Hemoves behind the lady. There are big hand prints on her breasts, and I cupa little bit of one in my hand, very gently. The lady is still crying, butnot so much now.

?I hate you!? She yelled at me. That's not very nice. She shouldn't dothat. I wave to the big man, and he spreads her legs apart. She tries tokick him, but he is very strong. She keeps bringing her legs together.

?Stop that.? She doesn't listen to me. I grab her other breast with myother hand.

?What are you doing?? She asks me. She sounds very afraid, but she shouldhave listened to me. I pick my feet up off the floor, and hang from her breasts.She starts to scream, and throw her chest from side to side. She swings meback and forth, but that only makes it worse for her. If only she had listenedfrom the start. Her screams get higher and higher.

?Please, let go!? She asked me nicely, but I want her to do somethingfor me first. ?Spread your legs,? I order her. She does it very quickly,even though they shake. I let go. She's crying again. I wave to the big man,and he spreads her legs and high butt cheeks. ?This is for earlier.? I waveto the big man, and he puts the clippie thing, as big as my hand and as strongas the big man's hand, somewhere between her legs, like he's clipping twothings together. I hear it snap shut. The lady's eyes go very big and herface gets very red, but only for a second. Then she starts to scream very,very loud. The big man starts to hit her with his palm, hard, on the flesharound her hips and thighs, on her spread cheeks. I motion the big man tome, and we start to walk away. The lady is screaming and slamming back andforth in the stocks, her big breasts bouncing back and forth and side toside. The big man and I walk away, down a long line of women, all crying.

Notice anything else about the dream? Anything jump out at you? Hopefullythe fact that at the time, I was seven years old. I woke up from that dreamwithout really knowing what it meant. I told my parents I had a bad dream,but that I didn't remember what it was about. For some reason, I thought thatif I told them they would ask me a lot of questions, and talk to me a lot.Maybe even be angry. I didn't give it much thought, and just went to schoollike you're supposed to.

Let me make something very clear. I was a normal child. I laughed a lot. Iplayed with other kids. I had lots of friends. I spent the night at my friend'shouses, and we would watch movies or play video games late at night, and thenget up and go outside the next day. I had loving parents who were very proudof their only child's progress in school. I didn't think it was right to hitor fight girls. I read a lot, was shy around new people. Just an ordinary,though unusually quiet and intelligent, boy. I've had normal girlfriend/boyfriendrelationships in my life. But when I was about ten, I began to realize thatsomething was different about me. Something that absolutely must be kept secret.One day, I ran across the word ?sadism? by accident in the city library. Sadism.That must have something to do with being sad, because ?sad? is in it, right?I went and looked it up. The definition leered back at me, and I quickly turnedthe page to the beginning of the ?G? section so people wouldn't know what Ihad been looking at. I felt a little sick. Was that what all those dreams meant?I started to feel really sick, but I also started to feel . . . something else.Something within me felt like it wanted to get out.

When I was in kindergarten, our class had an incubator with chicken eggs init. One day, during recess, I decided to stay in and read. I heard some crackingsounds in the incubator, and I rushed over in a panic. Jean, the teacher, wascleaning up some paints in the painting area. I hurried over to the littleplastic dome of the incubator and stared. There was a little beak, coming throughthe shell. I went and got Jean, and she called everyone inside to see it. Otherkids asked me whether because I had seen the first one ?being born,? if thatmade me the mommy. Smarter ones corrected them; no, he's the daddy. I didn'ttell them that I couldn't be the daddy, because I was a human. I did, however,proudly watch the little chicks start to hatch. I stayed the rest of the day,even into the afternoon group, to watch them. And they did, sure as anythingelse in the world. When I felt that unknown something within me start to hatchin the library, I waited with the same fascination. I went back to the dictionary,pulled it off the shelf, and took it to a quiet corner in the library. I wonderedif there had been a picture next to the definition, flipping quickly to it.No picture. See also: pain, domination, dominatrix, fetish, leather, etc.,etc. . . . As I felt the dull hurt in my groin, I recognized the nature ofthe hatching egg: reptilian, not avian.

And here I sit at twenty years of age in a charcoal-colored Jeep Grand Cherokee,waiting for the fulfillment of a dream, waiting for a doomed young woman tocome back to her house. I'm 5'8?, a little below average height. Got some crapabout that in high school, get more crap about it now that I'm in college.Still, it's good-natured, and I go along with it. What I lack in size, I makeup for in capability. I weigh about 153 lbs, and it's all muscle. Hard, toned,defined, explosive, fluid, predatory. My body is a source of pride for me,my self-guided chrysalis transformation from a prison of rotundity to whatI am today. My dirty-blonde hair, darkening now to my father's light brownand spreading across my chest, legs, and abdomen as well, has a permanent tousleto it. Years of martial arts and a recent year of boxing have made me morethan confident in a physical situation. Years of reading about warrior cultures,ethos, tactics, and training, have focused me to a razor's edge. The Art ofWar , by Sun Tzu, has had a particular affect upon me. My eyes oscillate betweengreen and blue, depending on . . . who knows what. Usually they're an off-gray,though. I have strong, quick hands, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, a well-muscledback. I'm trying to give straight facts. About my dick, there's nothing toospecial, though I grew a bit when I got to college. I'm about 7?, allowinga smidge on either side of that for good and bad days. I'm fairly thick, thoughI've never measured it. The girls I've been with can grasp the circumferencewith their hand not quite comfortably. I curve slightly to the left and I havea large head covered by a foreskin that I'm quite fond of. And I'm ready.

Quelling my growing erection with a thought, I watch the driveway two blocksaway. She's due back soon. My heart starts to pound in my chest. So long. Somuch planning. So much that could be. The girl I'm waiting for is curvaceous,her hips and ass flaring out and down from the muscles on either side of herspine. There are many similar young women out there, but they seem like cheapknock-offs when I compare them to this beauty. It's less a difference of noteand more a difference of tonality.

I check my watch. 1:34 am. She's not due for another eleven minutes, at least.Out of boredom, I glance through the dossier I have constructed on her. Glossy8x11 photographs, taken from rooftops, taken in malls, taken through windows,taken at her church with a fake press pass, taken with her legs parted in asimple and short-lived missionary to her idiotic Limp-Bizkit-Wannabe-Pot-Smoking-Prematurely-Ejaculating-And-In-A-Goddamn-Punk-Band-Buffoonish-Motherfucker-Fraternity-Jackassboyfriend. Okay, so I'm a little jealous. He probably voted for Bush, too.Asshole.

She's 5'6?. I know a lot of guys out there go for the smaller women, becausethey're easier to dominate or it's just a thing for them, but I like to looksomebody in the eye. She's not petite ? she's sturdy, able to bear what I willinflict upon her. She is well-toned, though, with clean lines and muscles thatcan push back when you're fucking that hungry muscle between her legs. Though,to be fair, she doesn't know that yet. Her breasts court ?C? cup range andmove with the beauty that nature gave them when she runs down Harvard Boulevardat 8:10 am. Her tawny hair tumbles down the back of her head to rest betweenher shoulder blades. It wakes up at 7:25 am on weekdays as a tigress, and shetames it with straighteners and blow dryers that I want to scream at her notto use, that she's so beautiful without all the things that she thinks sheneeds. If she's going out for the night, she puts some bounce in with a curler,which isn't so bad. She went out tonight, to see her boyfriend and go to aclub to dry-hump him. I get hard sometimes, thinking about her getting separatedfrom him in the club and ending up in my dimly lit corner of the club, watchingwith a small camera in my ?stylish? sunglasses. Zoom function, my friend'sdesign. Well, he's not exactly a friend. Let's call him a supplier for now.Other girls come up to me in the club, and I sate myself for a time with substitutes.

I don't have a problem attracting women. Woe be to them. I remember one girl,we met at the neon-lit bar of the club that my target and her boyfriend hadgone to, fake ID's in our hands. She looked up at me with a quirk in her eyebrow.Christ, she looked fifteen. We went up to the cushioned room, the VIP roomshe paid for (gotta love those rich sluts), and she began to squeeze my cockthrough my jeans. I had watched her ass crease and sway as we walked up thestairs, and I was ready. A juicy ass is my biggest turn-on, followed by a prettyface and full head of hair.

My black tee shirt slid off easily. She crouched on her knees at my side asI sat on the wide, circular couch. She brought me out and started her performance.I let it go on for about ten minutes, contenting myself and her to fondlingher barely-B-cup breasts. She wasn't too bad, but she wasn't good enough tomerit my sitting there and giving myself into her lack of a skilled tongueand mouth. I slid my hand to the inside of her thigh at the knee, slowly kneadingthe flesh there. Slowly kneading the flesh higher, higher. Running one lightfinger over her thin and wet thong, flowing my fingers under her thong to sitat the top of her little mound. My four fingers, side by side, glided overthe shaved surface of her sex. She moaned as I passed over her lips, a littlefirmer, and tried to press into my hand, her tongue sliding along the indentationat the back of my flared head, then falling over me in wild drunken abandon.I kept my hand just outside of the range of pleasurable pressure. There aremany ways to be a sadist, and denying pleasure is one of my favorites. My handslowly worked it's way between her parted legs and raised ass, already quaking.When I reached the beginning of the crack of her ass, I paused. She stoppedher squeaking on my cock, and raised off it to pout at me.

?Hey, don't stop! I paid for this damn room you asshole, and you're goingto ??

She stopped in mid-bitch as her mouth opened wide and her breath left herwhen I sharply dragged my hand back the way it had come, burying two fingersin her. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and I knew that for a split-secondshe was completely off-guard. I grabbed the back of her head, twisting herenraging highlights in my left hand and throwing her involuntarily open mouthdown upon me. Evenly and strongly pumping her with my right hand, her headwith my left, I bit the dimple on the side of her hip. She started to gag,making little noises that couldn't make up their mind between pleasure andlack of oxygen. I pulled her up slowly, still working her pussy as she pushedit into me. She stopped panicking, waiting for her turn to get air. An inchfrom being off me, I forced her back down, over her untalented tongue, deepinto her mouth, her throat, her tonsils quavering, her throat starting to shiver,her nose buried in my pubic hair. She began to retch. She fought against itfor a second, slapping my thigh as she shoved herself still further onto myhand. I quickly pulled her up.

?So, you like it rough, huh? I like it rough too,? she cooed stupidly. I staredat her for a second, right in the eye, before she fell over me again, usingher hand to work my shaft. I slapped her hand away and pulled her up, bringingher around in front of me to kneel. I gave her my most unnerving quiet stareand she started to squirm under my gaze, while I was happily thinking aboutthe camcorder running in the sunglasses I had set at a good angle to my left.I shoved her tank top and bra down to release her pert tits.

?Hold them up to me.? Without waiting for an answer, I pulled off my jeansand moved to the edge of the couch. She knelt, giggling and lightly pinchingher nipples. Time for a lesson in deepthroating. I pulled her into me, herbreasts rubbing up beneath my balls. I told her to use her breasts, to playwith them. As she did, I dug both hands into her hair and slowly began to teaseher mouth up and down my cock. Even with me handling most of it, she stillmanaged to be inelegant, simply opening her mouth wide and never bringing herlips into play, thin as they were. As I worked her up and down, I looked upat the TV screen showing the hallway outside of the room. Lo and behold, therewas my little prey, standing with her goddamn boyfriend. The lack-wit. Theghetto-pretender. The backwards-hat cheesedick. The fucking Abercrombie billboard.An alarmed squeaking made me look down. Her mascara was cascading down herface from the anger that had been coursing through my hands and into her mouth.I immediately assumed one of my characters.

?Don't cry,? I said softly. ?We can stop if you want.?

?No, that's okay,? she sniffled. ?But just go a little easier, okay??

?Okay, baby.? I pulled her up and kissed her long and sensuously, lingeringly.Five minutes of throat-pumping and gagging later, I was nearing the end ofit. I pulled her up, told her to get a deep breath. Then my hands crushed herinto me again. She still hadn't gone all the way, but she would. Looking atthe monitor, I watched my prey fidget nervously with her knee-length skirtand the purse on her elbow. I watched her as the moron left for a second, watchedher alone, looking into the gray-green of my monitor, wondering who was inthere. She's pretty in the scratchy green light, I thought as I plunged thegirl's head down and my hips up, to the very root of my spasming cock. Shebegan to choke, but I only allowed her an inch up and an inch down, fuckingthe frantic ropes of saliva coming forth. Later, I buttoned my jeans, tookthe girl by the arm, put on my shades-and-hat disguise, walked out past them,and proceeded to get the girl too drunk to remember.

I look at the rest of the dossier, shaking off memories and anticipation.She lives alone in a duplex apartment. Alone ? no roommates, no kids, no family,no boyfriend, no fucking Cujo to tear your calf off. That is to say, no dogs.I made damn sure of that last week. She's been going to school at the localcollege for a year now, no decided major yet. She's estranged from her parents,only a few friends to speak of, and of course the boyfriend. And there theyare ? Mungsucker and my target.

He's trying to come in, drunkenly I might add, but she's shaking her headno. Guess she's worried about getting to work tomorrow. She shouldn't be. Theystart to shout ? I can hear them from where I sit, two blocks away. Perfect,now she won't be missed for too long if she doesn't call. He storms off andpeels out in his big masculine truck as she goes into the house and slams thedoor. Now.

I quickly check myself over: small bag, a pair of ultra-baggy jeans, a belt,an Abercrombie long-sleeved shirt, and a Gap baseball cap, all courtesy ofher boyfriend's closet-o-crap. If any fibers are going to be dropped in herroom, I want them to lead somewhere else. I pull the car around, driving towardsthe nearby freeway and the overgrown dirt alley behind the little row of houseswith a duplex on the end. I walk to her back door, patiently pretending toring the doorbell for the benefit of any watchers. At last, I hear the rushof water in pipes as she steps into the shower like she does every night. Iquietly pick the lock with a locksmith's gun ? why the hell aren't these thingsregulated better? ? and pad into the house. Speed and stealth are the two factorsat play now. Reaching into the bag, I pull out my essentials and distributethem: black leather gloves, a soft black cloth, and a small black bottle ofchloroform.

I pad my way up the carpeted stairs, willing myself not to pay attention tothe pictures of her friends on the wall. A soft gold light flows across thefloor from the bathroom, the sound of rushing water behind it. I can feel sweattrickling down my back, creeping and slithering along like a coy tongue. NowI crouch in her room, noting the closed curtains ? this is almost too easy.Now all I have to do is?I hear the shower stop with a squeak. Fuck. She driesoff in her room. FUCK. My heart starts to pound and jump, choking me with glee.No, I can't panic. Think. Where does she dry off? In front of the vanity. Okay,where will she not immediately see me? No good, there's nothing in the room.Just the bed, the door, and the closet. The door will have to do. I quicklysquirt some of the chloroform in the rag and clench it in my fist, flatteningmyself against the wall that will be covered by the door in a few seconds.Still not good: the sound of her feet is making me go blind with lust and anxiety,while my fears and uncertainties are making my hand shake. I force myself togo still, to become as cold and unfeeling as ice. I'm watching this. It's alla movie, a play, a grainy smuggled film, a story. I hear the hinges start tosqueak, slowly spreading light onto the bed. She walks in, and it takes allmy willpower not to breathe, to hold still for those crucial few seconds whereshe feels secure. She flicks on the light, still scrubbing at her hair. I mustbe still. She shuts the door. Not yet. She lowers the towel to her shoulders,standing naked and unreal with her back to me. Now.

With a rush, I wrap my right arm around her chest and arms, pinning them toher sides. My left hand, chloroform-soaked rag lying upon the open palm, coversher mouth as she opens it to scream, muffling the destructive cry. My blitzcarries us to the bed, crushing her mouth and nose into the rag. Her legs drumwildly, and she fights with a strength she didn't know she had, a strengthshe didn't know wouldn't be enough. Her struggles begin to slow, and soon shegoes limp. Shaking, I climb off her, turning her head to the side so she won'tsuffocate. And there she is, prostrate on the bed. Helpless to me. Ripe forthe taking. No older than me, still a ?minor.? Her round and firmly meaty assbraced against the bed. Her breasts splaying out to the side. Her unblemishedskin still glowing from the shower. Her hair in a damp tangle above her head.There she is. And suddenly, I cannot move.

I could leave right now. I could leave, and go have a normal life. Go backto school, find a nice girlfriend. I could have normal relationships, I knowit. I can let this girl have the life she has dreamed for herself, worked hardfor. I could let her be fully human, not subordinate to another's desires.And such base desires at that. My plan is to keep her for the summer, makeher anew. Then, when I go back to school in the fall, either sell her or leaseher, as a sex slave. Selling would be safer. Somewhere overseas, far away fromanyone less capable than me, who would sell me out in an instant if they werebusted. She'll never be asked to play cards. She'll never be asked what shewould like for dinner. She'll never be asked an intellectual question. She'llnever have a shoulder to cry on that was not the source of her tears. I couldleave this insane and evil plan behind. I could die without shame. We couldeach live a normal life, with only one night of trauma between us. I sigh.But we won't.

I check my watch. 1:58. I must have been standing there for a long time. Losingtime. The chloroform will wear off in a few hours, so I need to work quickly.I hurriedly stuff my chloroform kit into my bag, and check outside. Anyonewatching from windows will simply see the girl's boyfriend carrying her toa car, his face blurry in the dark. I rummage around in her closet and dressher in a set of sweats after drying her off.

Five minutes later, she's lying in the backseat of the jeep with the restof my abduction equipment. I snug my cap down on my head and turn the key inthe ignition. Something makes me look at her. She looks asleep, the middleseat belt resting against her hip. There's still time to end this. I couldput her up in her room and leave. Not really conscious of it, my hand has workedits way to the shifter, chunking it from park into drive. I turn back to thegloom of the dirt alley, and slowly roll away into our oblivion.

Twenty minutes later, I'm at the base of the hill where I've made my den.I live on the outskirts of a decently sized city of 300,000, possibly yours.The city lies on a broad plain, with ocean blocking expansion on three sidesand high mountains blocking the remaining route. There are roads travelingthe coast on either side of the mountain range, and it is off of one of thesethat I live. My closest neighbor is at least a half a mile away, and everyoneout here is too rich to give a fuck what their neighbors are up to or think.Just like me. I suppose some explanation is in order. My parents, who werealways distantly supportive, are what you might have called ?old money.? Andthey were, right up until that fateful Concord flight over Belgium. For twoyears now, I've been on my own and for one year, psychologists have bored me.

Up, always up. That's how you get to my house. Finally, I can see the gateto my compound. I key the pad sitting ten feet away from the gate, and watchas the heavy iron spikes glide away into the reinforced cinderblock. A double-bendlater, and there it is. A large house, two visible floors, with a commandingview of the sea and the mountains across the arm of the ocean . . . and a massivebasement with sound-proofed walls. I carry her down to her new home ? a smallheated cell, unlit, with a mattress, pillow, and blankets set against the wall.I undress her and bind her hands and feet with the shackles bolted to the floor.She is starting to come out of the chloroform fog: all it will take is a sharpnoise or movement. I stash some hydrogen peroxide in a squirt bottle in thecorner of the room and leave quietly. Afterwards, I go into the adjacent roomto get dressed. She will have to be broken before she can be mine, and there'sno sense in wasting time. Black sweatpants and a black tee shirt are my standardcasual attire for such things. I glance around the walls and settle on a red-leatherwhip; not my style, really, but it is a symbol of force and power, a weaponof fear. With a crash, I kick open the door to her room, and she bolts awake.

?What do you want?? Her voice cracks with desperation. To her, I am but asilhouette outlined in the corridor. I don't reply, simply letting the coilsof my whip fall to the floor. Her eyes follow the threat with widening horror. ?OhGod, please just let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone!? Again, I say nothing,simply tighten my grip on the leather handle with a menacing creak. She startsto back up and notices her chains for the first time. Her mouth drops open,and then I speak in what I have been told is my surprising baritone. Timingis everything.

?I have chosen you to be mine. You will not be found. You are to become myslave. You no longer have a name. Your name is Slave, just as mine is Master.? Shestares at me in disbelief.

?But . . . but you can't DO that!? I slide the tip of the whip closer to meand gather it in my whip-hand.

?Because you are in my power, you will obey my every command without question,or you will be punished. You may, however, talk or scream as you like, unlessI instruct you otherwi??

?Let me go! You can't do this to a person!? She interrupted me. Bad mistake,Slave. With the tip and hilt of the whip in my hand, I lash out a back-cutagainst her thigh. Her short scream is part surprise, part pain. She will learn.I strike her on the other thigh, up by her hip. Now her cries are more painthan surprise, starting higher and living longer.

?And you will never . . . never, disrespect or embarrass me. Or you will havefar graver consequences than temporary pain.? As I speak, she shudders andcries as red welts appear on her, one on each side. No matter, I will continue.

?I can see that to be of any use to me, you will have to be broken first.? Atthe word ?broken?, she begins to wail and sob, cringing away from me. She doesn'thave any idea, but she soon will.

?Understand,? I say less harshly, ?that once you are broken and have submittedto my will, your life will go easier. You will not be wantonly beaten or mutilated.Your medical needs will be met. You will not become pregnant ? I have had asupply of your birth control pills delivered to me.?

?Please,? she sobs, ?just let me go, just let me go. I promise I ? I'll nevertell anyone, ever. Just let me go home.?

?You will never go home. The rest of your life will be lived out in servitudeto me,? I say gently. Then my face becomes hard, cruel. ?Your old life is gone,dead. I decide what your life is, now. And you will call me Master when youaddress me.? She manages only a frantic ?No!? before my whip cracks into herside. She doubles over and begins to cry.

?Your breaking begins now.? I throw the whip and my shirt into a corner andmove to stand at her feet. Though her body tries to claw away, her eyes cannotescape mine. I push my knees between hers, forcing them apart so that theyknock against my hips. She tries to fend me off with her hands, but the chainsonly go so far. Her hands strain a few inches from my face, grasping only air.I stare at her twisted face, tears streaming down from her eyes, her lips contortedin terror. She throws her hips from side to side under me, flailing her legsas though she was trying to swim. I grab a wrist in each of my hands, and tightenmy grip until she cries out. Slowly, inexorably, I force them down to the floor.

Her sobbing stops and she begins to breathe raggedly as I bring my face towithin inches of hers. Her eyes are wide, as though the eyelids had been cutaway; her pupils dilate and contract sporadically. A single small, infinitelypitiful sound escapes her throat, and then I kiss her. She squirms wildly,trying to throw off her rapist, but to no avail. I bite her lip sharply, anda note of pain escapes from her.

I move down to her neck, pulsing and red, trailing cruel kisses as I inhaleher scent. There are so few words to describe smells, yet so many for our pooreyes. I envy the wolf, so more knowledgeable than we in so many ways. I pauseat her breasts, heaving rapidly and bouncing from her frenzied gaspings.

No amount of pleading could have pleased me more than her first heart-feltscream as I bite into her nipple. I fill my mouth with her breast, gnaw onthe flesh, leaving deep purple marks and bruises as I work my way over everysquare inch of skin. Her screams reach a new level of realized horror whenI work my hand down to her clit and begin to rub fiercely.

After a short time, she cannot help her body's responses. I know they arenot hers ? I know that she does not secretly enjoy this. It is simply representativeof a body's desire to experience less pain. Many of our ancestors were rapists,and it did not become a woman to go unlubricated. It begins to flow from herfear-tightened pussy, and I jab in two of my fingers. Her screams are beginningto annoy me, and I leave her breast to anchor my mouth to hers. One breastlies untouched, while the other is sprinkled with purple punctures that slowlyooze bright red.

I stop fingering her to slide down the front of my pants, revealing my blood-engorgederection. I rest the head at the entrance to what is essentially her virginity.I suddenly stop my movements, and raise myself to look her in the eye, onehand holding her wrists while the other holds her hair close to her head. Realizationspreads across her face, and the tears begin to flow silently, her mouth forminga pleading and silent ?No.?

?I am the Master, and you are the Slave.?

When I shove in, a shuddering wail goes through her, shaking her body as thoughher soul were leaving through her pores. I begin to slowly piston back andforth, moving my mouth down to her other breast to mirror the marks of it'stwin.

Her moist heat clings to me and draws my eyes to look down at my own swollenlength, slapping against her unshaven lips and drawing panicked undulationsfrom the gentle oval valley of her belly. Her delicate navel quivers beneathmy coarse and hairy one, her outlined hips struggle to escape from the drivingV that leads down between my legs, her soft flesh recoils from my hirsute strengthand carapace-like abdominal muscles. Her womb screams as its defenses cometo nothing.

My cock begins to stiffen from wood to rock, and I feel my hips pick up speedas I near my first orgasm with my first slave. Hours of denial and suspenselend strength to my hips, and I begin to slam in and out of her, to my fulllength. Her screams, having died to sobs fifteen minutes earlier, rise to newlevels of defilement. My wild thrusting lifts her hips off the mattress, andI grip her breasts for handles of pleasure and pain. My cock spurts and jumpsdeep within her as my beastly breathing roars to life in triumph over the lifeI have taken. I can feel the heat, the slickness of her, my long slow finalthrust to her very depths, yet all without the inner grip that the pleasuresof lovemaking bring. I stay inside her for a few long moments, listening toher muted moaning and weeping. Then I stand and pull myself into my pants,not bothering to cinch the drawstring. Remembering my stashing from earlier,I snatch up the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and douse her breasts and crotchwith it. I grab my things with a single swipe of my arm and look at her, staredown as she lies on her side to gaze at the wall and shiver while she weepsand hugs herself. I draw two blankets over her, raise her head over her pillow.

?Rest. You're going to need it. Tomorrow you will address me as Master, oryou will be punished mercilessly.? She turns her tear-bright green eyes uponme, holding back her next sob.

?Why? Why are you doing this?? I stare at her for only a few moments, themonths of planning, the capture, the rape, the escaped opportunity for ourseparate lives running through my head.

?Someday, you will understand.? I leave and close the door behind me witha soft click, silence greeting me savagely in the hall, following me up thestairs to my bed. As I pull the sheets up to my shoulder and turn on my side,I can't help but think. Then, perhaps, you could tell me. Sleep comesslowly.