Total Party Wipe Ch. 03

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Content warning for sexual assault being framed as the basis for emotional intimacy and bonding. Anybody with sensitivities toward that sort of thing should proceed with caution!

Savok cursed his own incompetence. He had spent too much time isolated in the woods; had forgotten how other humanoids might behave. Though he had recognized the threat, he'd thought of them as nothing more than dangerous deer.

Why had it not occurred to him that they would try to recover one of their own?

Worse still: They had seen him. Most thought the urog were extinct, and Savok felt no need to debunk this. But now they would carry stories of what they had seen out of the woods -- which could bring more adventurers. More attention. More danger.

"...haah... wait... s-stop..."

Savok grunted at the girl in his lap, squeezing her breast and pressing the chemical-soaked cloth to her mouth.

"...hnhhgngh! Mmpmmh... mmm..." Her eyes rolled back as she slumped into a state of semi-conscious arousal.

Well, it hadn't been a complete loss.

He had a new captive, now. The short, plush redhead he had designated as 'Book'. As for Knife, his previous captive -- she would need time to recover. That left Sword.

She had surprised him with that fiery attack. He hadn't expected a paladin. Another mistake. Fortunately, he was able to stun her and grab Book. Sword tried to pursue, but he was too fast -- and his blow had left her unable to catch up.

He had retreated into one of several hidden caves with his newfound prey. It would take time for them to track him.

If the paladin was smart, she would retreat with her friend and return with reinforcements. But he had recognized the look in her eye when she charged him. The naked ambition. The raw fury. This was more than a mere hunt for her.

Savok was to be her prize. Her glory.

The other two -- he suspected they were little more than bait intended to draw him out. Had she even told them what they were hunting? He doubted it.

"...mmnngm... mm..."

Savok peeled the cloth off Book's lower face. Sticky threads of spit stretched between the cloth and her open, gasping mouth. She made a soft sound and squirmed in his lap.

He'd seen the look in her eyes, too -- right after she was struck by his dart. It was the same look she had when she saw what he had done with Knife. A look buried deep beneath fear, apprehension, and horror.

It was a look of fascination.

He turned her around and inspected his prize. She was a shapely little thing; thick and soft in a way Savok found pleasing. He was particularly enamored with the width of her plump, pale hips.

He sank his fingers into that plush buttocks, feeling its warmth through her robes. He peered down into her eyes -- his burning gold gaze piercing hers.

She was a sorceress, which meant trouble. Had he not been careful to keep her sedated and confused, she might have made things difficult. Even now, he could see those pliant lips of hers trying to form the words of a spell.

Savok interrupted the effort by grasping her chin and pressing his thumb into her mouth. He pinned down that tiny pink tongue and rumbled. She blushed and pushed her hands weakly against his shoulders.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" The sound of his voice startled her. She probably didn't expect him to know their tongue.

Still flushing, she shook her head. He felt her teeth against his thumb -- she made a half-hearted attempt to bite it. Barely enough to feel through his rough skin.

Nevertheless, it warranted a response. He retracted his thumb and brought his hand about, delivering a series of quick, light slaps to her face. Smk! -- smk! -- smk!

Not enough to bruise. Just enough to sting -- and leave her dazed.

The slaps left her panting and slack-jawed. Her violet eyes were darker, now; her pupils were dilated. The bloodbloom had a way of crossing one's wires. Pain and pleasure became indistinguishable.

He squeezed her throat. "Behave," he commanded, and -- when she made no move to defy him -- he squished her mouth open with pressure from his fingers. Then he leaned in for a kiss.

She had a sweet floral taste. Like honeysuckle and lilac. His tongue probed deep, overwhelming her own. It pushed into the soft wetness of her mouth, as if searching for something.

She was left with little choice but to swallow him or drown. His own saliva was scalding hot compared to hers. Her throat made a tiny noise with each lurid gulp.

glk, glk, glk.

He savored it -- savored her. It felt like eons since he had touched someone, anyone. When he had taken Knife, it had been in a desperate rush. But now? He could take his time. Revel in the warmth of someone else. The feel of them.

The little twitches of her throat and mouth. The clench of her buttocks. The wild pounding of her heart.

He squeezed her breast again. She trembled -- too confused, too scared, too curious to fight back. Her tongue writhed underneath the weight of his own.

Finally, he pulled back -- schlllllllk!

Again, long bridges of sticky saliva stretched across the gap, sagging beneath their own weight. Her mouth was left slack, its interior shimmering pink. Little spirals of heat escaped her jaws. He rumbled with pleasure at the sight.

"...wh... what will you... do to me?" she whispered. Her lips and tongue were still numb from the sheer overpowering strength of that kiss. It gave her voice an almost drunken slur.

"Mmm... keep you, I think. You would make a very pretty bride," he teased.

Her violet eyes flashed wide. Again, he could see the fear; again, he could see the apprehension. And again, hiding behind it, he could see her rapt fascination.

Her mouth moved. To cast a spell, maybe. Or to tell him no -- to try and defy him. He did not permit it. Instead, he interrupted it with another kiss. Even deeper, this time. He held it until he felt her shuddering on the edge of blacking out; until lack of air nearly caused her to collapse. Only then did he pull back.

He tore her robes open.

Succulent, plump breasts; each capped with a pink, hardening tip. "Magnificent," he rumbled -- as if he were admiring a fine work of art. His jaws sank. She felt his mouth and tongue engulf the left-most teat, his tusk brushing against the breast's sibling. He nipped and sucked.

Then he pulled back. Her breast stretched up like a rapidly thinning funnel; when he released it, it fell back to her chest. Now glazed with his saliva.

He dropped his head again. Her soft, weak cries did not dissuade him -- they only stoked his suddenly fierce hunger. He kissed, bit, and suckled her breasts until they were flushed with heat and covered in dozens of bite-marks. Each was shaped like a butterfly edged with the dents of his teeth.

It was only when the timbre of her cries changed that he moved on. He picked up on the subtle shift in her tone -- the way her quivering moans of fear shifted into pleasure as her mind sank beneath the fog of need. Then and only then did he lift her up and turn her. Her shoulders and back pressed to his chest.

Massive hands groped her sensitive, aching breasts. The rest of her robes were stripped away.

Her derriere was plush and wide, like a padded cushion. He abandoned her breasts, delivering a harsh smack to her buttocks. It rippled around his palm. She squealed.

He dribbled something wet and slippery down the crevice of her backside. A phial of oil. His thumb pressed against the tight little bud of her sphincter, working the slickness into it. Then, he smeared it across the length of his cock.

She whined and writhed. Her arms stretched over her head, as if reaching for something to anchor herself with. She could feel every ridge, every bump of that shaft as it sawed across the cleft of her backside.

Wet heat rushed out of his maw, bathing the side of her face in a humid cloud of desire. His mouth ensnared her long, delicate ear. Her eyes rolled back. He raked the sensitive edge with his teeth, nibbling. His tusk scraped against her cheek.

At long last, he pressed that tip against that tight little cluster of nerves. Just a half inch, at first; that's all it took to pry her open. She gasped.

Gripping her by the throat, he held her in place as he pulled back -- let her adjust -- then pushed forward again.

And again.

And again...

He kept going for what felt like an eternity, slowly working her open. Persuading her body to surrender. Little by little, it did.

Soon, his shaft was free to plunge into her buttocks with a single, smooth, uninterrupted stroke. The instant it did, he hissed into her ear with pleasure. His hips collided with hers -- her buttocks shook.

She cried out. Her voice was shaky and confused.

He could sense the turmoil playing out within of her. The mixture of pleasure, pain, and shame. She no doubt recognized that this was what had become of Knife -- that she was finding pleasure, finding ecstasy in the same experience that had traumatized her friend.

She was struggling over how good it felt, how much she wanted to just give in -- to be a pretty wide-hipped fuck-toy. She was clinging to the tiny piece of her that told her she couldn't, wouldn't surrender, that she was a person with hopes and dreams, and couldn't -- wouldn't -- just be this beast's play-thing...

If he had acted with more force and cruelty, it might have made this easier. But the fact was that, with every violating thrust -- every bite, every tease, every slap -- he also provided affection and comfort.

In a way, that was the cruelest part of all. He objectified her, used her, abused her -- but in a way that framed it as tenderness and intimacy. He hurt her, then provided her with the balm for that hurt.

He created a space where the only comfort she could find from what he was doing to her was within his arms.

Schlllk... plp. Schhllllk... plp.

The thrusts were slowly building, now. Each drove deep into her, churning up her insides. Each left her wide, padded buttocks landing atop his hips -- punctuating the end of his thrust like a cymbal crash.

Her sounds had degenerated into undignified mewls. There was not even a hint of the red-headed sorceress who had come into his woods seeking his demise. He growled, wrapping his arms around both sides of her hips and picking up the pace.

-- plp, plp, plp, plp, plp, plp, plp, plp --

She fell back upon him, her hair tumbling past his shoulders. With each thrust, her bare breasts lurched up. He pressed one palm between her thighs, gripping her trembling cunt. As if to seize it, like a treasure to be claimed.

She spasmed and arched, moaning with naked need.

He squeezed his palm against that quivering slit, pressing the base of his wrist against her clit. His jaws descended. He bit her throat in an act of raw possession. Teeth sank in.

She vibrated like a masterfully plucked cello string, producing a melody of submission. And then he felt her climax.

He came right after. Heat rushed to fill her -- ribbon after ribbon of potent seed, geysering up inside of her. By the time he was done, she was a shaking mess -- sinking into the comfort of his arms.