Lechku and Nechku: Darkscape

Bleeding palms and red-bathed lips do little to block out that sound, an almost screaming declaration of impending doom. Her tongue quickly runs over her lips again, wiping away what blood she can, before picking up with the pleading again.

"Don't do that," she breathes, voice choked with fear, and she actually shudders, raging through her mind in hopes of finding the right words to convince him to abandon this little game of his. "Please. I just want to wake up." Her voice aches with desperation, soft and not much more than a whisper. Good god, what a situation she's gotten herself in this time.

His left hand's thumb drifts up, curling against her slightly, the tip parting her slit lips and dragging up until it finds her clit again, side of the thumb coming to rest against it and trace against the hood gently, as though perhaps intent on teasing it to hardness. Perhaps by means of responding to her indirectly, she can hear the softest sounds of his fingers against the fabric of his trousers, his breath ghosting out across her chest, tongue dipping down for another tease of the nipple immediately beneath his hovering lips.

Her teeth clamp down upon her lip again as his thumb pushes against her, and she actually whimpers a soft touch at the pain she's caused herself - that hurt a little more than expected. Her fists clench their tightest yet, and she can feel blood seeping beneath her fingers, damp and warm against her own hands.

His left hip pushes down against her right thigh as though to prop himself up - and a vile hardness comes to nuzzle up against her slit, probing against her teasingly.

The heavy aching again helps to fight the touch of his thumb, but it does little against the suddenly newfound presence between her thighs, viciously unwanted and equally uncaring to whether it was welcome or not. A miserable little wail, something pathetic and terrified, brushes past her tight teeth and bleeding lips, letting him know very well how helpless and lost she feels.

A warm moistness settles on the skin of her right nipple, his lips parted into an O, resting against the skin around her nipple, trapping it, the rough of his tongue dragging across the very tip again as if there were nothing else to tease. A moment later, his teeth find the nipple - oh, he's learnt what it does, fully intent on using it to his advantage.

Thumb still teasing in slow circles against her clit, he exhales through his nose, air ghosting across her skin, his right hand guiding the tip of his shaft against her opening, pushing against it almost gingerly for a few moments - before he pushes into her in a fairly sudden, steady motion, in the same instant biting down on her nipple, as if to distract; but having the opposite effect.

Goosebumps litter her skin, and she shudders beneath his breath, doing her best to keep her hips stationary while she does so, not wanting to encourage or accidentally draw closer to the hardness resting to calmly there. In fact, the muscles there clench, as though attempting to deny him any entrance he might try to claim.

She only tightens further as he presses gently against her, entire body tensing... which is a bad idea in the long-run, because his sudden plunge into her is simply more painful due to her unnecessary tightening, and she cries out, every part of her body arching so viciously against her restraints that she only causes more pain, most likely bruising her stomach and ankles. The cry is followed through with a long, constant stream of soft "no's," as though to deny the fact that he's truly doing this.

He doesn't even smirk against her as she arches, simply grinding his teeth almost carefully against the bitten nipple, repeatedly jolting pleasure-pain up her senses. His right hand brushes her left thigh in passing, back of his nails tracing across the skin, hand then dipping to curl around her thigh loosely on the outside, then drifting up gently, past her hip, before finally sliding down to behind her, hand trapping itself between the small of her back and the branch, fingers fanned out against her skin.

He stretches into his lean slightly, lips finally detaching from her nipple again; his breath appears moments later against her neck and he kisses its side near the base. He rests within her for an agonisingly long moment as though to let her get used to the sensation, before drawing himself back out slowly, until he halts the motion with his tip still within her, thumb of his left hand pushing against her clit as though to crush it against her shape or pin it down.

Her soft, verbal stream of denial takes on a slight twang of pain as his teeth roll around the sensitive nub, and her voice grows a touch more shaky with each touch, chills rolling down her spine as his hand places itself along the small of her back. The intimacy involved in every motion of his is a wicked twist to the game he's playing with her, and she hates the contrast between action and intention.

Her begging finally fades to a stop as he finally begins to pull out of her, pace so ridiculously slow and tantalising, despite the knowledge that he isn't doing so to respect her begging. He isn't going to listen to her, and what does it matter anyways? He's already... he's already gone too far.

And then his lips are upon her pulse, tongue gently exploring the structure of her neck. A subtle pressure in the palm of his right hand, he grinds his hips against her, beginning a torturously slow thrust into her, not giving her the satisfaction of making it a painful experience for her at all, even if it is uncomfortable at first.

His vampiric teeth graze against the flawless skin of her neck, their tips feeling dangerously sharp against her pulse point. And then there's that thumb, still, grinding teasingly against her clit, jolting pleasure through her shape against all her efforts, the sensations travelling through her in slow waves, radiating through her body as though intent on consuming her in her entirety.

She can't help herself - her neck arches, unconsciously wanting to surrender every inch of it she can to him. The series of grazes and almost-punctures, paired with the deliciously slow push back into her, actually managed to pull out a soft moan from her lips, and she does a horrible job of trying to muffle it through clenched teeth, trying to pass it off as some sound of pain instead.

Again, this is all useless; he can see straight into her, and surely he knows how absolutely triggering his teeth upon her are, how absolutely mind-wracking that second thrust is, how insane the pressure of his thumb drives her. All of this she refuses to admit to herself but cannot hide from him.

Pain jolts up her senses as the horribly sharp teeth slide with an almost sickening pop into her skin, his lips latched around it, trapping the blood that wells forth in his mouth - the way he has punctured her skin, it is a steady trickle with the potential not to be lethal.

His tongue drags across her trapped skin, drowning itself in the crimson liquid, the iron taste causing a pleasured twitch to run through his shape, him allowing a soft moan of pleasured indulgence to surface, vibrating against her skin as he continues his thrusts, hand at her back shifting in something of a teasing stroke, nail of his thumb finding her clit past its hood, touching the sensitive skin directly, causing a sudden jolt of almost unbearable pleasure to travel up her senses, eliciting a reflex to squirm away.

"Ahhh!" The sound is partially one of surprise and mostly pain as his teeth sink into her, and again, her body arches viciously against all restraints, only to push her most sensitive spot directly against his thumb and nail. Her entire body twitches at the intense sensation, paired with the wicked pain raging through her neck, another mind-boggling contrast that just worked to overwhelm her at a completely new level.

"God," she breathes, voice simply a quivering mess as her hips sink back down, inching as far away from his thumb's powerful touch as possible, fists somehow finding it in themselves to relax and release their digging grip from her palms. Blood still wells from her lips, her fingertips and hands dripping, and her neck can now be added to the dripping mess.

If she were able to see, his almost relaxed yet indulgent expression would probably strike her as a mock, those eyes rolled closed, his shape moving subtly each time he drinks of her blood, his tongue lapping against her teasingly, eliciting, as a sensation, a mixture of irritation and pleasure.

His length inside her seems to fill her despite not being driven into her to the base, the edge of its tip thrusting against her g-spot; the nail of his thumb twist against her clit, pinning it down against her sensitive skin, her blood pulsing through the trapped nub, each heartbeart causing a ray of pleasure to lance through her shape.

The wicked mixture of far too many new, intense sensations is overwhelming, and another almost pitiful moan is issued. This time, though, the desperation in it is a far cry from the begging to stop that she issued before and is much closer to a terrible need for more, a want that she would never bring herself to directly express. Instead, it is the flushed cheeks and falters in breath that completely give her away.

Her hips attempt to squirm beneath the touch of his thumb, but this does little more than press his length in all the right spots, bringing soft trembles throughout all her body. "Fuck," she gasps, hating her physical reactions.

As if to mock her, the restraints on her ankles loosen, slowly letting her regain control of her body, legs first. Her assailant's left leg is between her own, right beside her, giving him an angle of his thrust, it only partly countered by the partly one-sided pressure of his hand. His lips remain latched to her neck, thrusts continuing, speeding up almost imperceptibly, the change too subtle for her conscious mind to catch on, a steady addition. As if out of courtesy, his thumb's nail leaves her clit, though the tip of the finger slides back across the hood of the same, beginning a circular tease against it - but at least it's far more bearable this way.

Immediately, her ankles squirm around in circles, simply getting used to the ability to move again. Only briefly does she consider attempting to curl her feet out of the loose restraints and take a stab at inflicting physical damage upon him. After all, her eyes are still shielded, and tendrils still entirely kept her arms and stomach captive. Trying to hurt would simply get herself hurt. Instead, she keeps herself stationary, minus the upward arch of her hips as his nail slips away briefly, as though attempting to follow it. Even as she does so, the young woman lets out a humiliated mewl, ashamed of her body taking on a mind of its own.

The motion drives his length further into her, it grinding against her inner walls, the initial discomfort - aftermath of the forceful entry of his index finger - beginning to fade away, dulling and dissipating. His thumb, teasing against her as it is, becomes trapped between her and his hips each thrust, adding to its pressure.

His lips are still warm against her neck, her blood welling forth into his mouth, drawn upwards by the curl of his tongue against her; even if it does slow, puncture wounds no longer bleeding quite as vigorously as before, even though his teeth are still sunk in her neck as though intent on never letting go.

The throbbing in her neck slowly dulls into an almost pleasurable pain - after all, her pain tolerance has always adapted quickly, managing to twist the burn of each pulse into something that purred "I feel alive," rather than throbbing with hurt. Similarly, the oh-so-slow tempo of his thrusts, pulling and pushing and filling in ways that she had only imagined, begins to ignite more positive reaction that she likes to admit. Subtly, her hips find themselves rising to meet with his each time he thrusts, as though she thinks he might not notice as long as she keeps the action small.

Softly, his teeth slide out of her neck, renewing the pain slightly, tearing at the skin even despite effort not to. A fresh bout of blood leaks from her neck, trickling down its side - his breath tickles the skin into gooseflesh, before his tongue dips down to stroke the rivulets of blood away, lapping at them. Content with her enjoyment, his aura seems to radiate his knowledge to her as though he fed off her embarrassment, her fight with herself. But no words.

His right hand has been drifting downward in caress of her back, finding her left butt cheek and curling around it, holding her there instead of at the small of her back. His own breath has turned into a soft pant that would be melodious to anyone who had entered this physical bond with him willingly - but in this situation only emphasises the carnal act. His left hand leaves her and he leans forward, into his thrusts, stimulating her clit by grinding against it at each thrust - his left hand slaps against the branch, palm pushing down against it. His tongue continues to swirl at her neck - but the wound seems to be healing quite swiftly, abnormally so.

She gasps softly as his teeth pull from her, shuddering as she feels blood trickle and tickle down her own sensitive neck. It's almost as though she can taste it herself, and then she remembers the slit in her lip, the puncture wound that she had made herself. Blood still seeps gently from it; her repeatedly running her tongue across it has not allowed it to close, leaving a slow and mild trail trickling past open lips.

His soft panting is a horrid reminder that he's enjoying himself as well, and her head tips backwards, avoiding the situation, lips twisting into a miserable frown even as she whimpers pleasantly. Her body continues with its mixed reactions, hips rising even further to increase the pressure against her clit with each push, and her ankles stretch, flexing, curling.

Her lips part in attempts to articulate a number of different thoughts, but all she can manage are soft little starts before becoming physically overwhelmed all over again.

In further mockery of her pleasure, the tendril pulled taut against her belly seems to snap, the torn ends lashing against her belly before sliding off her shape, leaving her to writhe as she pleases - or thrust up against him if she would rather, giving her more of an opportunity to aid him burying himself within her - but her wrists are still tied above her so far, though no doubt he would let them go eventually, too, when he felt it was safe to do so.

With the bloodflow from her neck subsiding, her neck is left to be, the previously punctured skin tingling awkwardly, half in protest and half in retrospective enjoyment, filled with the tingle of healing. He presses his lips together, savouring the taste of her blood; he brings his head up to her face, brushing his lips against hers almost timidly, though of course she knows that nothing could be further removed from the truth.

She hisses as the ends whip against her skin, back immediately arching to its full extent, pushing up against him in one completely indulgent moment. Despite the newfound physical freedom, she doesn't retaliate or attempt to throw him off.

She tries to justify her lack of aggression, claiming that even if she were to get away from him, she was still bound at the arms and blinded. Wriggling out from beneath him would be pointless; all she'd end up doing was running right off a massive tree branch and plummeting to her death, which was pointless at this point. He and she both knew better, though. The chances of her attempting to escape, even once unbound and with her sight back, were slim to none.

The touch of his lips disappears, and her body tenses, wondering where they'll return to. Eventually, they're brushing against hers, and her tongue darts out, not to touch him but to wipe any new blood away before he can get to it.

In what superficially appears like an act of bravery from his end, his lips close against hers and his tongue seeks entry to her mouth, invasion a gentle but insistent one. With his apparent recklessness, she could bite his tongue off, couldn't she? ...couldn't she? Just how much control did this monster have of her dream?

His left hand is still resting against the tree branch, side of his wrist touching her side occasionally when her body shifts beneath him. His thrusts have reached a pace that can no longer be described as lethargic, his length impossibly hard within her, grinding against her with a pressure that would, on any other body-part, cause discomfort or even pain; but within her, it simply causes waves of pleasure to roll through her lazily, filling her, not bothering to fade from her senses.

Meekly, her lips part, action done reluctantly as though she were attempting to avoid punishment rather than truly wanting to allow the kiss. She does not interact beyond that, though, as though humouring him by returning the favour may be the one greatest tell-tale sign.

She can't help but moan into their pressed lips, though, hips hungrily pushing up with each thrust, no longer attempting to hide what she's doing. Her arms twitch, partially because of their awkward positioning and mostly because it seems there's something she desires to do with them. She settles for being able to only move and shift against him, body shuddering, needy beneath the winged beast.

At the twitch, the bonds of her wrists snap much like the one around her waist did - ends lashing against her in brief sting, only to vanish from her senses completely, like a rope that had once been pulled taut and had just been cut. Deepening the kiss, a purr seems to come from him, a distant, guttural sound, not altogether human. His wings brush near-silently against the texture of the branch, shifting his weight slightly to drive himself further into her at each thrust, trapping her clit between her body and his with more force each time.

Much like she had with her ankles, her wrists immediately swirl in circles, cracking softly as a sound of relief from no longer being restrained. Awkwardly, she brings her arms to her sides, hissing softly into his kiss as her shoulders cry out in protest, having stayed in one exact position for so long.

She seems to have decided against any plans she may have had for her arms and hands, though, as they end up laying flat at her sides, fingers digging tightly into the tree branch beneath her. Perhaps she's being shy; perhaps she had no plans to begin with... no, that's a lie. She simply doesn't want him to know of the terrible urge to wrap her arms around him and rake her nails down his back, pulling him tight against her to get even closer.

His kiss lingers, tongue swirling about within her mouth, gently brushing across her tongue and the roof of her mouth, invading it, causing miniature tingles of pleasure. His thrusts continue, grinding within her pleasantly, and the culminating pleasure in the fibres of her body really does become hard to ignore even if she had not given up on that already, threatening to overwhelm her entirely. His right hand curls its fingers, crescents of his nails digging into her skin, jolting pleasure-pain up her senses once more, the touch possessive.

Oh dear god. Rationality begins to lose way to pure, animalistic want, and she's unable to keep her arms stationary, hands hesitantly moving up off the ground, fingers gently touching upon his sides, grazing before moving up to place themselves firmly upon his back.

Very gingerly, her tongue flicks against his, but she quickly stops that - the only bit of self-control she can still show. Her breaths grow short, shallow, and she occasionally allows another moan to escape, so very, very humiliated in doing so, but not enough to cancel out the fact that she feels... amazing.