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After flinging it against the concrete wall, the sharp shards were useful for the tiny fissures I sliced into her skin as punishment.
She denied me a sound. Refused to release her hidden scream, even as I peeled the flesh from her defiant arm. Resolute frustration threw me from her side, slamming the door behind me.
I know she won’t flee. I’ve an army now. Dogs of size and girth that rival horses, all with just enough intelligence to know to defer to me and my whims.
They follow my commands, like the good little mongrels they are. Finally a purpose for the useless fodder of humans I used to wade through daily. The scourges of half-witted drivel that used to pace before me, declaring their innocence, pleading their case, begging for mercy.
Now, they obey me implicitly. I am not only judge and jury, but also executioner for any who stray from my wishes.
I should be gloating over my newfound kingdom, the reign of which I have always felt I was destined for. The total control to allow or deny anything to exist. To be the master of life or death of any I deem fit.
Instead, I find myself groveling, consumed by my petite, little, honey haired prize, my most coveted possession. I have begged her with my claws, devoured her with my teeth, fileted her with my cock, and now she withholds the one reward I crave.
Her scream. The sound of her music is mute. I know her throat works. The string of archaic curses she throws at me are a testament.
I miss her glorious song, the sweet sounds that pull at my loins, filling my cock with longing. The melodic trilling of her throaty screams sends electrifying shivers through my body.
Without them, I feel vacant, empty.
My prized wall of golden tresses feels dull, the tendrils coarse and stiff. Lifeless.
Trailing my stunted fingers through their lengths, they fall in somber bunches. Not even as vivid as they were a few weeks ago.
Pressing my lengthened cheek against their locks, I wonder if perhaps I need to try a different approach. Tender is how I treat my wall of prizes lest I sever their tenuous ties. I’ve already lost too many delicate strands to the hard floor below.
Stalking back to her door, I beckon her to the chamber. The pallor of her skin fades as she compliantly matches my pace. Never allowing her to follow is a lesson I learned from a mistake long ago, one I shall not repeat.
“You know I fucking hate you,” she hisses.
Yes, her lovely voice does work, even with the coarseness of her choice of words.
She earns a derisive growl. I wish I could expand my response, but I’ve abandoned the hope to ever form words again. With a gesture, I indicate for her to lie on her back.
Obediently, she extends her arms above her head where I wrap the bindings. Not too tightly, but not loose enough that she can escape.
The clenching defiance in her jaw does little to hide the mottling in her cheeks as the tears brim her eyes. With the smooth side of my knuckle, I gather one of the salty drops and bring it to my tongue. It tastes like fear and opposition.
Unable to resist, my mouth finds her quivering neck. Resisting the urge to tear into her quaking skin, instead savoring the hot syrup pooling into the hollow of her throat.
My claws skim beneath the fabric of her shirt, cleaving it in two. But, I’m careful, leaving her beauty contained. Her chest heaves in small gasps when I peel back the thin cotton. I have a never-ending pile of collected clothing because my dogs are eager to please, and bring me anything I desire.
Ironically, I can communicate better with them than with her. If only I could tell her how I cherish the rare gift that she is to me.
Her nipples tighten when I expose them to the cool air. Tight pink tips that I lavishly taste, swirling and suckling, yet gingerly, careful of my elongated canines. I have already sampled the depths of her flesh, the nectar she hides. Now, I want to draw the quiver from her, to challenge myself to make her scream without beauty. To sing without pain.
What sounds will fill my ears if I can succeed? I crave the opportunity.
When I inhale against her belly, she sucks in, pulling the tiny retreat of her navel from my whiskers.
Her fear is intoxicating, pressing me to continue my exploration.
The oversized sweatpants that hang low around her hips fall victim to my scythe-like claws. A curly tuft of blond hair springs loose, wafting her ripe smell in a heady aroma that hardens my cock.
I left her legs loose, an illusion of freedom that she tries to take advantage of, twisting her thighs, trying to close me off from the sweet scent of jasmine that emanates from her. She brings back memories of my childhood in Georgia, back when I was innocent.
Before I was broken into the man I became.
Pressing her tightened knees apart, I settle myself between her pale perfect legs. My hardening length rubbing against the cool bench, the tip protrudes from my sheath in earnest interest at her shy flower opening before me. Her heels dig into the bench, her efforts to push herself away only opening her thighs wider.