Lechku and Nechku: Darkscape

"Ahhhhh," she started quietly as his nails dug in, the syllable simply increasing in pitch and volume to morph into a shrill squeal as he tore away. She didn't want to imagine the mess that she was already, amazed at how easily he turned that one region that was supposed to be the center of pleasure into one of the most intense pains she'd ever felt.

Still, pain is a temporary thing that she has a high tolerance for, and she's quickly able to grow accustomed to the intense aches between her legs. What she can't quite adapt to is the sight of the winged beast pulling up against her, looking down at her with a gaze that she could now meet, unlike earlier. There's much less shame in her expression now, if only because there's little current emotion to be humiliated about. He no longer triggers temptation in her; there's only hatred.

Her back arches at the onslaught of his fingernails, but she keeps the pain from her expression. 'I already figured that one out,' her thoughts bite, ridiculously spiteful. 'And you aren't finding shit. All I've got for you is a big ole mass of 'Fuck. Off.''

"Tch." There it is again, that sound, seemingly his only response to the worst of her stabs. How can a single creature be this removed from the opinion of his victims - how did the saying go? Weren't these situations typically about control? Shouldn't it matter whether she resists or gives in? He should show at least some irritation - but there's none of it, at most a hint of genuine amusement.

~If I really wanted to, I could peel your skin off and make you enjoy it. Would you rather I focused on something like that?~ He knew the answer to the question - but if she was hoping to battle him on the verbal battlefield, why not cater to it for as long as it provided entertainment?

His outlines still seem touched with a lecherous air, but he seems undecided what direction to spin this into - pleasure or pain. He'd already threatened that it was her choice - if she was lucky, she would remember it now and know that it still applied.

For a split second, the fire in her wants so badly to challenge him on that, but a split second of rationality helps to remind her that he'd already started mutilating her in one area - there would be no hesitation on his part to go ahead and prove himself right. That much about him, at least, she understood.

Instead, she finds herself turning her gaze away, pale blue looking to drift off and rest on anything but him. There truly is a touch of fear back in her expression now, and that's one thing she doesn't want him seeing, foolish as being evasive is. After all, he can see directly into her thoughts; there's obviously no need for him to acquire any information from her gaze. In the end, a myriad of thoughts group into one concrete answer. '...no, I wouldn't rather something like that.' It's a submissive answer, and she hates herself for it, but survival instinct is beginning to kick in.

With the line of fire his nail had left within her slowly becoming a dull throb, her mouth is finally released from the bizarre gag. The vaguely bitter taste leaves her mouth, leaving her to close her jaws, returning proper speech to her.

The release of her mouth from the powerful tendrils is met with an audible sigh of relief, and she seems to relax slightly as she closes and opens it a few times, twisting her bottom jaw around and even popping it a couple of times to get it back to a more comfortable state. Even so, the new state of comfort certainly didn't merit anything such as a thank you from her, and she even considered snapping her jaws at his fingers again as they rose up her face. She swallowed the urge, though; now that her mouth had tasted sweet freedom, it didn't want to lose it to the tendrils again. Instead, she clenches her teeth and allows the touch... except maybe she should have fought back.

Her wrists remain pinned as they are and the black-winged creature raises his left hand and extends it forward to trace the fingertips across her eyes, them seeming to drag a cool, almost metallic dark band with them, as though perhaps painting it into existence across her eyes, the paths taken depriving her of vision even once the fingers have left. Missing a few slivers, he turns the hand, tracing it back across her eyes the other way, until nothing of the light around her finds her retinas. Darkness.

Suddenly, all she can see are faint slivers of light, and seconds later, she can't see a thing. Panic explodes, and suddenly her whole body is violently bucking and tossing again, terrified. "No, no! Take them off!" she demands, unsuccessfully attempting to bring her hands to her face to claw at her eyes.

His gaze drafts across her tensed arms, straining to pull out of what holds them almost straight up above her head, indulging in the terror suddenly lining her shape, trying to twist her into motion and away from him. "Shh," he whispers, bringing his right hand up from her hip, sliding around her side, holding her in a loose grip with that hand as he brings his left down to do the same on the other side, his touch cool and infuriatingly gentle against her skin. Even as she writhes, he lets the fingertips drift up her skin, pushing her shirt further up, thumbs pressed up against the edge to peel it up off her breasts.

"No, I am not going to 'shhh,'" she retorts, voice shaky and shrill and the purest form of 'frightened' she's displayed yet. Between wicked restraints and not being able to see a thing, it seems to kick in that there's truly nothing she can do in this situation, and that seems only to kick her physical retaliation into overdrive. "I want them off, now!" She pleads and demands as though there's a real possibility he'll oblige, despite the fact that that won't be happening any time soon. Her struggling does take on a slightly different tone as his fingertips drift, though, and she instead squirms to evade, hissing slightly at the ticklish touch.

All her pleas seem to be causing is a rumble of a purr from this monster, and his shoulders shift above her, lips coming down against her left breast, locking around a nipple, right hand having slid as if to support her body against it, both moving with her squirms and countering them slightly. His tongue drags lightly across the trapped nipple.

She lets out something that sounds like an odd mix of a sigh of frustration and an almost gasp, the second of that sound swallowed back down before much of it can surface. Her panic is beginning to melt back into that anger she seems to so often default on, and her back attempts to sink into the ground, trying to evade his mouth as she growls: "Keep your fucking mouth off me." Everything he touches feel so dirty and... ah... well, dirty.

Again, there is no response, the tongue merely rolling around her nipple as if in absent-minded indulgence, gentle, probing. His wings rustle softly as he shifts again, though she cannot see why - and a moment later, that now-familiar sensation - like the broad, smooth scales of the underbelly of a snake - touches her right side, sneaking up her shape at height of her belly-button, tracing across her belly almost in a straight line, only deviation an organic one.

Her next sound is one of awkward discomfort as his tongue circles around her, lips pressed against scar-littered skin. Despite the fact that what he's doing seems to intimate to him, Elizabeth still regards the physical touches with a distant tone - doing so is the only way to stop herself from becoming overwhelmed. The creeping across her stomach works as a disgusting reminder of what was once in her mouth, and she runs her tongue against the roof of her mouth to rid herself of the disgusting taste, even as her back arches in attempts to push the newly-forming restraint off her.

The tendril is knocked back a bit by her struggles, but continues, undeterred, and it turns out to be just a matter of time - once it has covered enough ground, there is no opportunity left for her to knock it down, and the creeping sensation travels across her bare skin, past the dip of her belly-button, crawling to the far side of her shape, where it sneaks back down her shape. She's given a long moment of freedom as the end of the vine-like thing leaves her - before she is abruptly yanked down against the branch, the smooth line across her belly pulled taut. Meanwhile, his teeth graze against the trapped nipple, his hands tracing up and down her sides almost with lethargy, their touch horribly light, fingertips brushing their nails against her, palms almost as if entirely non-existent.

She whimpers quietly as the tendril snaps her down, tight against the ground, despite having known very well it was about to happen. Her squirming is further rendered useless, seeing as she can no longer even arch her back in attempts to throw him off at all. This offsets her anger a touch and gives way to fear. After all, even if she were to somehow kick him off her form now, she was thoroughly attached to the ground. In a very final sense, she was stuck to that tree branch until the winged beast found it within his more-than-likely-nonexistent heart.

Still, being hopeless doesn't completely quell her fighting spirit, and she goes back to verbally pestering. "Mouth. Off. Now," she demands, lips curling into a snarl, even as his teeth graze.

Why, why is there never a response to her jabs? With her waist pulled down against the rough, gnarled bark of the thick branch supporting her, he shifts once more, causing another soft rustle to invade her sense of hearing. His hips shift against her again, the edge of his trousers brushing her naked skin. Sharp teeth bite down on the trapped nipple, shooting a jolt of some foreign sensation up her senses - but its over as quickly as it began, his tongue tracing across the nipple once more, much of his hair spilled across her chest.

Her body tenses, hearing the rustling and preparing for him to do something, but it's hard for her to mentally prepare when she can't see what she needs to mentally prepare for. The bite brings out a sharp gasp from her, back arching against the restraining tendril, and for once, it's not an all-together sound of dislike. She finds herself swallowing the response back as quickly as possible, not wishing him to realise there's a possibility of positive feedback, before remembering that it's impossible to hide from him whether something settles well with her or not. The lack of physical and mental privacy is infuriating, and a stream of expletives stream out, meant more for the situation than the winged jack-off directly.

She might sense a light smirk tugging at his lips even as they remain pressed against her; those teeth pinch against the very top of her nipple as though to slice off the top layer of pink skin, jolting a sensation of pleasure-pain up through her body. His hands cease their travelling at height of her hip, spidery fingers sliding to grip the smooth cheeks of her arse, touch gentle, pressure minimal, simply holding her - like a lover, perhaps.

Slowly, he lets his lips close around her nipple, his head drifting back and upwards, away from her shape, if only by a few inches, to breathe a cool breath across the moistened skin, his eyes half-open to watch her skin curl; before bringing his lips back down, to touch and caress the skin below the nipple, beginning a path downwards, slowly shifting to allow it.

She hisses quietly, back arching once more, kept tight against the giant tree branch only because of the slick tendril. His teeth clenching the tip of her nipple is a maddening sensation, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that she fights hard to push out of her mind. It's impossible to block everything out at once, though, and his hands suddenly making their way down has her tensing again, clenching at his touch. Thankfully, his lips eventually leave her nipple, and although the soft and icy breath is sensational, she's still relieved to be given a break. Then again, it's not much of a break - his lips are on her again, trailing down, moving somewhere she obviously can't see. A soft whimper breathes past her lips; she has no control of what happens next.

The warm lips leave little stepping stones of moisture in their path, their touch light, insultingly gentle, drifting outwards as though he intended to kiss down her side, path curving down against the edge of her ribcage, before the curve twists around again, bringing them closer to her belly button. It seems he has decided whatever holds her has proven most useful, as in sudden, split-second motion - stark contrast to the slow pace everything else has gone in - her ankles find themselves bound, legs pulled straight and slightly apart, her entire body pulled taut beneath him; he shifts, hips leaving her sense of touch behind, his weight on his knees beside her, travelling downwards with his kisses, feathers and the fabric of his trousers dragging across the textured wood near-silently.

She cries out at feeling of her ankles being pulled apart and down to the ground, following it with a very miserable and very agitated: "Ah, fuck." Her entire body is essentially locked in one position, leaving her able to do more than lift her head a few inches, and that's useless, seeing as she can't see a goddamn thing.

Coming to terms with her physical situation, she forces herself to relax - the constant tensing is just going to get herself hurt. Cramped calves and thighs won't help the situation. Knowing full well that she can't physically squirm her way out of the situation, she moves on to semi-rational speech, even as the feeling of his hips leaves her.

"This is really pointless," she rationalises, voice pleading. "I'm sure there are plenty of pretty young men and women who'd be more interested in this. You should find one of them so both parties can enjoy themselves. You'll enjoy yourself more that way." She continues to ramble like this, nervous chat, desperate talk.

It elicits a dark chuckle from him, as though she had either missed an integral part of his personality - or he felt her words either already described the situation sufficiently, or would do so soon. Of course, it's more comforting to presume him to be thinking former. His fingertips trace idly down from her hips, crescents of his nails grazing across her skin in light quasi-caress, teasing the skin of her thighs on their outsides, his lips finding her belly-button and lingering there for a moment, swirling the tip of his tongue in that dip of her skin, pushing against it gently, before resuming his downward path.

She cuts off at his chuckle, lips pulling into a miserable frown. Good god. All she was doing was making a fool out of herself, rambling on like that. Realising that she's rather incapable of saying anything even remotely intelligent in this situation, she finally closes her mouth, deciding it better for him to think her a fool than for her to go ahead and prove it. Her stomach instinctively sucks in under his kisses, and her teeth lock around her bottom lip and he continues heading south of her belly-button.

The gnawing is an act of self-control as she attempts to not pick back up with her demanding he stop - doing so was thoroughly pointless. Hold her tongue, bite her lip, and let her thoughts resonate clearly with how she wished she was anywhere but with him.

Thankfully, his kisses seem to veer to the side again, tracing from her belly button in a mostly straight line toward her hip bone, lips brushing her naked skin gently, breath warm against her, edges of his tongue touching her skin every once in a while. His hands come to rest against the knees, thumbs brushing against the back of them, fingers curled around the caps, palms pleasantly warm against her skin. It is then that the vampiric teeth graze against the skin of her left thigh, his head dipping slightly, and the tip of his tongue traces against her bare skin, teasing across it, an inch removed from her slit.

She resists the urge to tense and lock her knees under his touch, again trying to remain rational and remind herself that doing so will only make things worse. Instead, she breathes in and out, deep and slow, rhythmic to the point of her counting each so that she can concentrate on something other than him. The rhythm is broken as sharp canines brush against her skin, earning a break in the breathing so that she can catch a soft, pleasant whimper, before it passes her lips. She's unable to hide her vocal reactions so much when his tongue brushes dangerously close, though, and her whimper's begging tone isn't one to stop completely, per se... but to instead just stop teasing.

The teeth brush sharply against the inside of her thigh, tracing the path of an artery as though intent on piercing through her smooth, naked skin and drink from her blood; but even though he drags the rough of his tongue against her skin, he instead withdraws, his own eyes - unbeknownst to her - drifting closed. His hands uncurl from around her knees, drifting to between her legs, fingertips tracing teasingly up the inside of her thighs, his nails drifting almost without any pressure at all up her skin.

She finds herself biting her lip again, using the gentle gnawing and sharp pain as a technique to block out any pleased or begging sound she might feel tempted to make. It's slightly effective - any form of pain is a minimal distraction from his grazing and gentle strokes, and that's better than nothing. Her teeth tighten, almost breaking through the skin, and she clenches her hands above her head, long fingernails digging into her skin, breaking the skin and getting a grimace out of her. Even so, the pain's better than being sweetly tempted and animalistically won over by his teasing touches, so she deals with it.

His lips brush against her other thigh, tracing up and to the side, touching the bone of her hip with warmth, lingering there for a moment as his body shifts back up, his hands coming to rest with their palms against the inside of her thighs, fingers rested just under her hips atop the same, palms held softly against her, thumbs sliding to outline her slit in a V. His breathing seems steady enough, but there's a certain heavy touch to it, as though he were enjoying this all too much. She can feel some of his weight pressed against her through those hands. As his kisses ascend further again, heading in an irregular line to the whereabouts of her right breast, curls of his hair drag across her belly as if in an own caress.

Even through her self-inflicted pain, she can't keep her hips from arching gently beneath the weighted touch of his thumbs, so very close to again exploring her more thoroughly than anyone had before. Unfortunately, a mental curiousity was beginning to tempt her as much as how delicious his physical touch was, but she kept that quelled by rationality.

Unfortunately, rationality did little to block out his touch, and soon, she could taste a small trickle of blood seeping into her mouth from a broken lip. The coppery taste catches her off guard, but she simply licks it away before biting harder. She has to keep distracted, somehow.

His shape shifts above her, those wings casting obsidian shadows across her shape, leant above her, inches away from her even at farthest point. The fabric of his trousers brush against her skin again - and his tongue finds her right nipple, tip swirling around it in almost idle tease. His right hand drags gently against her skin as he moves it - and the soft sounds of a button popping open and a zip being slowly eased down reach her senses, almost threateningly.