The Hunt

She continued to choke him as they wrestled, registering faintly the feel of his muscles under his skin. After a moment she realized he was not attempting to injure her or overpower her. At the same time, her exertions were causing little to no effect. After a moment she loosened her grip. He slipped his neck out of her hold and pressed both of her shoulders into the ground firmly, squeezing them almost imperceptibly before moving away and getting back to his feet.

Moving with feline-like speed, she jumped at him, turned in mid-air and kicked him in the chest. He fell heavily on his back and she pounced on top of him, legs straddling his waist, hands at his throat. At this point she would have taken his life but she'd thrown her knife away and, looking into his face she knew that she didn't want to kill him. Plus, it was too easy. He wasn't even putting up a decent fight. Placing his hands on her ribcage, he tossed her off him and they both retreated from one another.

The Hunter rose, not taking her eyes off him. Her mind was racing. He did not intend to kill her, only brand her, yet even that plan seemed to have been forgotten. He now seemed content to simply wrestle with her. And she no longer felt any desire to take his life. The crook of her arm tingled where his sweat had rubbed off on her skin. She resisted the urge to sniff at it, or worse, lick it. Her breath was coming in short pants and her palms were itchy.

The Deshan stood there, waiting. The slight smirk had returned to his face. She wanted him to attack her again but he wouldn't. She would have to initiate the contact. She moved forward, aiming a blow to his stomach, knowing he would counter with a deflective turn and a pin of her arm. As he clutched her wrist, she sank her nails into the skin of his chest, drawing blood. He grunted and placed his hand on her chest, mimicking her, although his nails did not penetrate the fabric of her vest or break her skin. Neither of them moved.

The pressure on her breast was painful but overshadowed by a growing ache between her legs. She realized dully that she was sexually aroused. The sensation was strange, almost unfamiliar, suppressed for so long.

Finally she understood. The stalking, the chase, the sparing had all been his form of foreplay. He released her breast and pulled her hand away from his chest. Her fingernails shone red in the moonlight with his blood. She tried to back away from him, the sudden rush of primal desire too unsettling. He tightened his grip on her wrist and grabbed at the leather straps holding together her vest. He yanked, pulling them apart, bearing her breasts.

They both stood there, frozen, blinking at one another. A moment later, he reached out, grasping her belt. He undid it and dropped it at her feet. He then began reaching for her pants, intending to pull them down. The Hunter resolved that she would not let this man dominate her; take her on the river bank. She pushed his hand away roughly and yanked his arm downward, throwing him off balance. He grabbed her by the shoulder and they fell to the ground, her on top of him. He clutched her arm and tried to roll on top of her. She resisted but he used his full strength-for the first time the entire encounter-and she was thrown onto her back.

He retrieved his knife from the ground and approached her. She inhaled sharply as he slid the knife down the front of her pants, its cool blade burrowing through her pubic hairs. He let the tip of the blade rest against her clitoris for an excruciating second then, with one fluid movement, cut through the leather of her pants from her waist to the bottom of her left leg, revealing the dark triangle of her vagina.

Placing the knife to one side, he climbed on top of her. Growling, she dug her fingernails into his flanks. He hissed through his teeth and ground his hips into hers. She grabbed his biceps and shoved him onto his back, mounting him. She could feel his erection pressing against her, large and urgent. Grunting, she clawed at his belt, undoing the brass buckle and pulling his pants down around his knees. She took his throbbing penis in her hand and hovered over it for only a second before bringing her hips down, plunging it deep inside her.

The Deshan groaned and rocked his hips, pressing even further into her. Moaning, she leaned forward and took his bottom lip into her mouth, biting it until she tasted blood. He buried his hands into the braids of her hair and pulled them roughly. She quickened her rhythm, luxuriating in the feelings their union was generating. For so long she'd experienced only the maddening Pain or the narcotized stupor of the keurache. This old and sorely missed sensation was welcome.

She sat up and let her fingers trace the muscles of his chest and stomach, her hips settling into a steady grinding motion. The Deshan pushed himself up on his elbows and found her left nipple with his mouth. He let his tongue twirl around it, wetting it, then pulled away, watching as it hardened in the night breeze. Then he leaned forward again and bit it harshly. She gasped and gritted her teeth as the pain shot through her. She grabbed his bald head and dug her nails into his scalp which caused him to bite down harder. She quickened her humping, pulled his face away and pressed it into her other breast where he repeated his licking and biting method. She cried out, her senses overloaded by the mixture of pain, pleasure, and keurache.

The Deshan attempted again to flip her over onto her back and this time she let him. He plunged himself deep inside her and put his hands around her throat. She sank her nails into his flanks again, drawing more blood. He gritted his teeth and groaned, squeezing his hands tighter and cutting off her air supply. She wrapped her legs around him and clamped him between her thighs until he yelled in agony. He pulled out and sat back on his haunches, his penis glistening wet and swaying back and forth. He was gasping for breath, sweating profusely and bleeding from several spots. She found the smell of it all nearly overpowering. She shifted on her back and opened her legs wider, inviting him. He fell on top of her and she helped guide him back inside her. She matched him stroke for stroke, licking the sweat and blood off his skin, the mingled flavors of copper and salt exciting her even further.

Soon she began to feel the build up of her climax and urged him to quicken his thrusts. Her orgasm started in her center then washed over her. She began to buck underneath him, her juices spilling over and running out onto the grass. He kept his momentum for a few more moments then rolled her over onto her stomach. She pressed her face into the grass and raised her behind in the air. The Deshan entered her again and began to stoke her with doubled vigor, tracing his fingers across the scars on her lower back. She moaned and dug her fingers into the earth, pushing into him to meet his thrusts. Soon, she felt him beginning to get even harder inside her and his tempo increased. "Arrgh!" He threw his head back as his orgasm exploded inside her. She clenched her muscles, milking him. She shuddered as some of his seed spilled out and ran over her clitoris before dripping into the grass.

Panting and heart racing, the Hunter let her hips sink to the ground. The Deshan pulled out and fell on top of her, breathing heavily. He rubbed her shoulder lightly with his left hand and kissed the back of her neck; the first tender touch that they had shared. She sighed and closed her eyes, still riding the wave of the high the keurache had delivered. Her head actually began to spin and she struggled to regain her senses. Vaguely, she noticed the Deshan had moved and was doing something with his hands. Too late it occurred to her what he was about to do. She screamed as the hot poker was pressed against her right shoulder blade.

Fury welled up in her and she threw the Deshan off. He tumbled in the grass, almost falling into the water. He'd dropped the poker and it sat in the grass, its head still glowing red, pieces of her burned flesh stuck to it. She saw her knife laying in the grass a few feet away but made no move for it. She was going to tear his heart out with her bare hands! Screaming she flung herself at him. The Deshan spun away from her and retreated up the bank, pulling his pants up as he fled. The Hunter dove at his knees and tackled him. He pulled one leg free and kicked her in the face. She didn't even register the blow. He kicked her again and managed to get free, crab walking a few feet before turning to face her. She was crouched, preparing to spring.

"I told you I'd mark you," he said, that faint smirk returning to his lips.

"You bastard! I'm going to kill you!"

"Maybe. . . But not today."

The Hunter launched herself at him, teeth bared. She intended to bite through his jugular then rip his chest open and pry away at his ribcage until she could pull his heart out. But when she landed her fingers and teeth found nothing. He'd managed to employ one of his tricks and in the blink of an eye the Deshan had vanished. Where he'd been just a second before was nothing but the pungent smell of his sweat. The grass in the footprints of his boots was already springing back to form.

She looked around frantically but she was alone on the riverbank. Rage boiled up in her to the point of insanity. Howling, she tore tufts of grass from the ground and pounded the dirt with her fists. The pain from the brand helped to send her into a frenzy. She stopped when she realized she'd torn two fingernails off her hand. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. In the trees, birds chirped and rustled loudly, unnerved by her shouts. She stood up and turned to look at the river. Both moons were now shining brilliantly down on the water. She walked toward it.

After a couple of steps she noticed the poker and bent to pick it up. It was still hot to the touch and smelled unpleasantly of her own smoldering skin. She had no idea what the glyph that was now permanently burned onto her back meant, but she would find out. Then she would find out the identity of the Deshan wizard and discover if he truly was one of the last of his tribe. If so, his tribe was doomed. A new Hunt was about to begin and may the gods help her prey.

She felt the Deshan's seed trickling down from between her legs. Absently, she dipped her fingers in it and tasted them. His scent, the taste of his blood, sweat and semen, were all stamped in her memory. She would taste his blood again soon. And she would feel his heart beat its last while clutched in her fist. The Hunter dropped the poker in the grass and waded into the water.

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Thanks for reading and send some feedback if you can. If you enjoyed this story and the characters, let me know. I'm thinking of maybe doing a Part II.