Warning! This is a horror/dark fiction story so may be disturbing to some. There is strong language and sexual situations.
Cold and angry.
She stood on the rooftop patio overlooking the city, feeling the chill wind of the approaching storm from the sea against her face. The tender flesh between her legs still burned from the hurried assault of the male’s first rough coupling. He had taken her within moments of their having entered the bare apartment, tearing her garments from her and throwing her onto the sleeping platform without a word. Discarding his own garments, he had hovered above her for a long moment, fighting teeth bared, his huge purple phallus bouncing obscenely against her leg. She had closed her eyes to shut out the sight of him, willing herself not to scream as he had plunged into her, tearing the delicate tissues in his impatience to spend his lust.
Mercifully, he had stiffened and moaned after no more than three quick, grunting thrusts. Immediately afterwards he had rolled aside and fallen into a deep stupor. She had left him snoring noisily on the sleeping platform, the slack skin of his facial covering drawn back in a hideous rictus of exhaustion, and hurried into the blue tiled bathroom where she had opened the taps of the enclosed shower and scrubbed at her skin to remove the foul scent of him from her. Then, wrapped in a dark towel she found among the long-disused trappings of the human habitation, she had come to the rooftop to be away from him.
The lights of the city were sparkling below a thick blanket of racing clouds and she gazed out over the checkered patterns of moving traffic, wondering how she would manage to keep the blood vow she had made before the Oracle. Had her noble sire known of the pain and humiliation she was doomed to suffer at the hands of the haughty prince, she was certain, he would never have bound her so. She gazed into the black, rushing clouds, recalling nights in the den when she had been but a youngling at her mam’s soft breast; nights when she would sleepily awaken in her nest of piney boughs to the soft sighs of her mam, gazing out into the dim light to see her sire gently stroking the long supple limbs, pressing himself close…. Through all the long seasons she had dreamed of such nights with her prince, the proud hunter whose dominions she was destined to share…. Now all her waiting had come to this; to be roughly used and cast aside, accorded less respect than the harlots who were a constant presence among the humans.
It was not acceptable.
“Have you tasted the clean air blown in from the sea by the storm?”
She whirled to see the prince regarding her from the open doorway of the dark habitation. His yellow eyes gleamed with amusement and she noted with horror that his huge and ugly phallus was already stirring between his white, hairless legs.
“I was looking at the city,” she said, as he strode naked across the stones of the patio to stand beside her. She flinched as the towel was pulled from her face and she felt his cold caress on the curve of her hip.
“The city is filled with easy prey,” he said, absently slipping his hand lower, squeezing the firm muscles of her buttock. “We will couple again, then we will go among them to feed.”
She lowered her eyes to see his rude member stiffening and she suddenly stepped away from him, the unexpected movement prompting his head to whip around in surprise. “I must not couple again so soon,” she murmured.
His brow creased in consternation and she felt his eyes burning into her.
“I have never done so before this night,” she explained, “and it is painful….”
He continued to stare unblinkingly at her.
“My Mam instructed me,” she lied, “that a newly breeding female must take care when coupling with a large male, lest she damage her ability to give him younglings…”
This answer seemed to satisfy the prince, for his engorged phallus suddenly fell limp and he strode away through the dark doorway, pausing at the draperies to gaze suspiciously back upon her. “Very well, until the morrow then,” he finally hissed. “Come. Now we will hunt, for the hunger is within me.” He disappeared behind the drapes and she heard the sounds of heavy objects crashing to the floor as he searched for his garments.
Summer turned to gaze once more at the sparkling city. She longed to see Bobby, if just for a moment.
Ungrateful little bitch!
Straight Razor Dan stormed through the darkened bedroom, flinging open a closet door and scattering clothes against the walls in his search for a suitable costume to wear among the prey. The unspent seed was raging in his loins, the fire of his lust competing with the burning in his belly to put him in the foulest of spirits.
The young female was proving far more difficult to manage than he had imagined. And though he attributed much of her evident reluctance to serve him and display the proper respect to her inexperience, his patience was already growing thin. Her avowed preference not to couple again when he was ready was a prime example of unseemly behavior that must not be allowed to continue. He wondered if he should consider returning her to the Oracle for a careful explanation of what was expected.
The most disturbing thing about her attitude was that he wanted her badly. Though the first coupling had not gone well, he had not meant to injure her. She was, after all, to bear his younglings and thus due a measure of respect. Perhaps if he were gentler….
Selecting a lightweight suit and a London Fog raincoat against the wet weather, he dressed quickly, considering the choice of a hunting ground for the night’s feeding. He decided upon a venue that would allow him to display his consummate skill in luring the prey to him, secretly hoping that she would recognize how fortunate she was that he had chosen her above all others for his mate.
He stepped back into the bedroom to see her holding the tattered remains of the garments he had earlier ripped from her body, realizing that he had indeed been too rough in his first encounter with her. “Come,” he said, gently taking her arm and leading her to a second door across the room. Stepping inside, he pressed a switch, illuminating a larger closet with mirrored walls. She cautiously followed him into the spacious enclosure, staring with her golden eyes at the racks of clothing displayed therein.
“These shall be your garments,” said Straight Razor Dan.
The female turned to regard him. “Mine?” She whispered the word in wonder, stepping forward to stroke the fabric of a velvet pants suit with buttons of glittering stone.
“We shall order more if these do not suit, and shoes as well,” he offered, pleased at her reaction to the gift and certain she presumed he had acquired the wardrobe against her impending arrival, as he indeed would have done had it occurred to him. He saw no need to inform her that the expensive garments had actually been purchased by the late Laurence Barnett for a former lover who had been fond of masquerading as a woman.
“Dress yourself and we shall hunt together,” he suggested.
“Yes, my Lord.” The tone of her voice was substantially altered from before, much of the surliness now absent. Satisfied, he left her to her dressing. He assumed the change in her demeanor was due to the gift he had made her of the garments.
Of course that was not it at all.
The garments were beautiful.
Summer stood before the rich display of clothing, running her fingers across the rich silks and velvets and suedes, turning the dazzling clasps and buttons of gold and flashing stones to the light. The prince had amazed her with this sudden gift, marginally softening her attitude toward him. Although she found it hard to believe that he had gone to the trouble of selecting the garments for her use, here they were. Perhaps he did hold some small measure of respect for her.
She would have to see.
Choosing a simple skirt and a blouse of watermarked silk from the racks–she was still uncertain as to the proper mode of dress of the human females–she placed the garments on a table top before a mirror, wondering at the collection of colored bottles there. She lifted the glass stopper of the nearest one and the room filled with the scent of wildflowers. She giggled, at the realization that the strong, musky taste of the male’s pheromones–a taste that continued to cling to her despite the long scrubbing to which she had subjected herself–had disappeared beneath the light, pleasant fragrance.
Wetting her finger on the damp stopper, she rubbed the essence onto her face and neck, wondering if it would also mask her smell to him. If so, she reasoned, perhaps she would be able to prevent him from attempting to couple again while she decided what she was to do.
She hurriedly pulled on the garments she had selected, glad that, for tonight at least, she had nothing more serious to concern herself with than the taking of a human.
She wondered as she struggled to fasten the unfamiliar buttons whether she might somehow convince the male to kill a bad one.