One Charr’s Bauble – Pt. 3

She couldn’t remember how long it took her to pass out, thirsty, exhausted, and--above all else--pained. But when she awoke it was with a smack of a palm against her face, “You’ve been sleeping on the job,” that now familiar, hateful voice told her. The only indication of the time having passed was the darkness of the tent and the only increased pain and thirst in her body. Opening her eyes she could see a mirror before her, positioned to give her a view of herself.

She blinked a few times, confused for a moment as she saw the reflection of herself. At first, she wasn’t sure it was her. Through the haze of hunger and thirst, it seemed almost like a vision, an ethereal being. As it slowly drew into focus in the dark tent, however, she realized that the two dimensional mess was her. Her long, blonde hair was no longer lovingly cared for. Instead it was tattered and knotted, her bangs pressed against her forehead and weighted down until they reached her dark rimmed, bloodshot eyes.

Her cheeks were reddened and her lips cracked and could see her body was mostly red, coated half in blood, half in bruises, and she couldn’t bear it any longer. She closed her eyes roughly, but even that hurt her, and the sob that choked out from her throat scratched her like a knife.

From out of the shadows her tormentor returned. With an odd carefulness one of his hands reached out, cupping her cheek, “Don’t do that,” he urged in a low voice, rather than commanding. His stroking of her face seemed affectionate, “You’ll get me hard if you keep that up,” he warned, then placed a heavy bucket of water before her, within reach of her lips if she craned her face down to the limits of her bindings.

She didn’t hesitate at all, not considering that it could be poisoned or otherwise contaminated as she might have in brighter days, and she couldn’t even wonder at his reasoning. Perhaps he just wanted to keep her alive longer, which was reason enough for her to drink. She lapped at it like a cat, though the water kept rolling off of her tongue and frustrating her. Still, she was desperate enough not to stop, her eyes still never seeking his out.

The water was tepid, though either through her desperation or weariness she could taste nothing wrong with it. The harsh dark beast stroked back from her cheek along her poor, matted hair. After watching her lap at the water a while he spoke again with the same sort of tone as before, “You’ve lasted longer than I thought you could,” he mused.

He could be excused for thinking her to be weak. She had the look of it, after all, especially to such a beast as he. She mused at the torture the female charr must submit to and she almost felt a well of pride at being able to resist the urge to give up.

His affection was disarming, however, she didn’t speak until she could drink no more, managing out a small “thank you.” Whether it was for the compliment or the water, it wasn’t certain, but it could have easily been both.

“Don’t get all soft on me now,” he remarked with a wry smirk. Carefully, with the tip of his claw, he arranged her dirty hair, nudging it away from her forehead and eyes. “You managed over a week, and perhaps a dozen ruttings,” he said without hiding at least a bit of the admiration and surprise in his voice.

“I told you,” she murmured softly, “If you treat me well, I will last forever.” She swallowed a bit, her throat and mouth beginning to feel better. “But I will still hate you,” she promised, her eyes fluttering closed a bit as her brows furrowed at his tender grooming of her hair.

Her hatred more than her determination or persistence made him smile, “Good,” he murred.

After a pause he took a deep breath and sighed. “Perhaps you were right,” he said, moving his hand down from her hair to her chin, gripping her neck and turning her face towards the mirror, forcing her attention back to her battered image again. “But now you’re no longer pretty or appealing to look at,” he stated firmly, sounding a bit disappointed. “I can only imagine how hideous and broken you must look to one of your own.”

“Do you have baths?” she asked a bit glibly, defensiveness kicking in at his reminder of the broken woman that stared back at her in the mirror. “Keeping me clean will help me last,” her eyes narrowed at his chest, “and nothing you do will soften me to you. Even if you care for me.”

Amused with her biting back he grins in that mischievously feline manner back at her. “A bath? What else would you like? Hair brush? Makeup? Food? Am I missing anything?” His voice was full of light-hearted mockery in the face of her shabby condition.

“All of the above,” she confirmed to him, though she still wasn’t brazen enough to look up at his face. “I’ll look just like the woman you captured last week. Fresh for the picking,” she sneered.

He still held her face in his powerful grasp, and with her refusal to look him in the eye he twisted her neck and head back further, trying to force her gaze to meet his. “So demanding,” he rumbled lowly. Licking along his maw he leaned in a bit closer to the weakened woman, “You ask for a lot. And I’ve already done so much for you,” he said, his tail swishing as his demeanor changed.

“Do you know the trouble it took just to get you?” He grinned, looking up as he thought on it, “Seeing you with that fool friend of yours. I knew you had to be mine. It took some bribes, and calling in some favours. It cost a warrior’s life. Not that it means much to me aside from the trouble it costs me.” He looked back to her, glaring, “And now you want MORE?”

“Do you want your sacrifices to be in vain? To do all that work just to have me look disgusting and die after a week?” she asked, all that indignation and hate and pride whirling within her. She was determined. Her eyes narrowed at him, “A little bit of work towards caring for me will be a lot better than having to find another human a quarter so good as me!”

At that outburst he grinned again, obviously enjoying her fight, her will to struggle against him and survive. Releasing her face he arched a singular brow, studying her with his reddened eyes. “It would cost me little to do these things, you’re right,” he ‘hrmed’ over the thought softly, seemingly contemplating it. “But it would also mean strengthening you. Loosening your binds, as it were. Giving you a better opportunity to escape. And for what?” He inhaled with a snort, “A little pink sleeve to dump my loads into that’s usually passed out and unable to appreciate it.”

She knew that if that was all she was to him, he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble. She knew she had the upper hand. He wanted her. He wanted to keep her. She swallowed her pride.

“I can do what I need to while wearing a leash.”

Tilting his head, he studied her a while, seeming to consider her proposal. Finally, after a long delay, he licked his maw. Leering down at her he bent in, leaning in close to her face as his large, black-furred body descended around behind her. “Or I could just get one pleasant fuck out of you right now. Dunk your head in that water whenever you pass out on me, until I’m rutting into a corpse.” His strong hands scraped their claws along her shoulders and arms, the menace in his gaze and pose seeming all too real.

She felt her stomach acid churn in her belly, but she remained resolved, “Then you’ll be making a terrible decision,” she assured him. She was a fiery woman, and even at his threat she wouldn’t back down. She was going to live, and he was going to let her. He was going to appreciate her. He was going to become dependant on her.

And then she would leave.

But for now, she knew she needed to work on him.

“If you grow sick of me, you can. But you’re not, yet. You want me to look good,” she motioned her head out the door, “Go on. Show off your new leashed pet, and get her cleaned up. Make her worthy of you,” she dared him.

Bent over her, his nostrils flared and he growled low and angrily, his sharp claws having moved down her arms. Then after a long pause he brought them back up, holding the leather straps that had held her limbs in place around the chest. Her arms and legs, as weak and malnourished as they were, were free again at last.

She moved them, her head tilted to the side, but she immediately relaxed. There was no sign of betrayal, but she was grateful. She bowed her head to the snarling beast in thanks.

“You win,” he said with a snarl, tossing the leathers aside, “for now.” With a coarse lick of her neck he brought one of his thick arms around her midsection, and, rising up from his position crouched behind her, lifted her body with the slightest of ease.

He carried her over to the large pelt strewn bed, laying her out atop it. The furs and leathers were so soft and comforting compared to the hard wood and metal that had been her only support for over a week. With care he arranged her limbs upon the bedding before bringing a tray to rest beside her. Upon it was a plate of food, some sort of meat, cut into small cubes. He speared one on a finger and then brought it over to her face, dangling it before her nose before bringing it to her lips.

She was so eager, but so weak. Though she tried to respond by immediately eating it, her motions were much slower, and she almost pricked her tongue on his claw. Still, she ate it with pure delight, and even as she bit her swollen tongue she seemed truly appreciative.

She was paler than when he had captured her, probably in part from the lack of iron, and the lack of sun. She almost felt luxurious, as though she’d gone back to her home and was being pampered.

The reality, of course, was anything but.

Sitting by her on the edge of the bed, he wore little, just a leather sarong lazily done up so that it split up along his feline shaped leg. Watching her pale form sprawled out before him, he soaked her in, even as battered as she looked.

Carefully using his clawed finger to wipe away the juices from her lips that seeped down, he speared another little cube and fed it to her. The meat was barely warm still, having been sitting there a while and barely cooked as per his kind’s fancies. Though looking after her, oddly, seemed to entertain him.

“You’ll get pretty again, won’t you pet?” he crooned to her in a tone like a father to a babe, or a master to an animal.

That look of determination crossed her face once more, and she nodded eagerly, “I will stay pretty as long as you let me,” she continue to eat, trying to fill herself before he changed his mind or his mood. It was a dangerous thing to be near him, she understood that better than any.

“Good,” he murred the word out with pleasure. “I want a pretty little human princess as a pet,” he declared, letting her lick the meats juices from his claw before he reached aside. Instead of producing another piece of meat this time, he produced something more familiar. Her old backpack. She could see it still contained some of her things, a brush at the top. Either he had anticipated this all, or he had kept it nearby.

“This is for once you’ve rested,” he instructed. “To start restoring your beauty.” Reaching out he stroked her jawline, “It’ll help get me hard to see you looking attractive again.”

She figured that he would have removed her pistols, so there was no hidden hope glinting in her eyes, but she was happy to see it none the less. She even smiled, or what could have passed for a smile. It improved her beauty, just in that small action, before it faltered.

“Then it will be so,” she promised him.

Resting the bag by the side of the bed he reached to his waist, “But for now,” he said, pulling the leather sarong open, displaying the dark skinned swollen cock beneath. “Your present appearance will have to do.” He climbed up over her carefully positioned body, with her legs already having been conveniently spread for him.

There was fear in her face, shocked confusion by his sudden demands, and she tried to shift away from him. She was coming to know how to better manipulate him, and she whimpered, “But it hurts.” The words sounded genuine because they were.

With a feral grin he intoned, “I know,” before mounting over her and jabbing down with his thick spear at her still puffy and abused cunt. With deft accuracy he was slowly plunging the brutal instrument into her in no time. With heavy breathing he warned, “Hold on through one more, pet. There are no other chances,” he gripped her shoulders and pinned her down as he began to thrust.

Her head arched up and she cried, quaking under him. To feel his weight pressing on her front was a different sort of agony, and she felt laid bare with her face towards him. It felt so much different, so strange and disgusting, and her lip trembled.

He could see her as she went through all the stages she went through when he fucked her. Disgust. Rage. Pain. Fear. She was an open book to the charr, and she hated him exposing her so.

Even though her condition was so deteriorated, it did not keep him from staring down at her, watching her writhe and cringe in agony as he bucked into her. Despite his words, the harsh brute swelled and groaned in pleasure inside her, seemingly having no trouble finding satisfaction with her in her current state.

A claw raked down from her shoulder to a breast, mauling it rather unintentionally as he sought to squeeze it. Breathing heavily, his brutal pummeling seemed to have little life left in it, though as usual grew more intensive, more aimed to inflict hurt.

She screamed as he clawed at her sensitive chest, the globe so large and round despite the lack of food, though it had lost some of its heft. It was a miracle she hadn’t died and she briefly wondered if he was caring for her in her sleep.

The thought was cut short, though, as he once again stabbed into her and she once again cried out for him to stop. A brief flicker of worry if he had any neighbours occurred to her before fading once more, and she bucked beneath him. He was so large. He filled her so fully, and she was astonished by how her body could accommodate such a massive beast.

Through the blinding pain something eventually became clear; he was penetrating her, filling her, easier than before. His brutal violations were changing her.

Loudly huffing, he rammed himself into her a final time, trembling as he let loose a howl of pleasure with yet another unloading of his seed.

It was over. She’d made it, she realized, as he yanked his slowly softening member from her body. Bending down he lifted something. Before she could make it out it, cold metal was wrapped around her ankle. “It’ll go here,” he said, clamping a chain around her,” for now. Until you clean up, and you can wear the collar.” With a tug, he showed that it was attached to a post, deep in the ground in the tent.

With that display, it became obvious: the whole negotiation, the barter, her pleading for her life. He’d planned it. He’d coaxed her into doing it all just as he’d intended.

She looked down at the post, and her heart fell into her stomach. She swallowed back a lump in her throat, but she refused to let his manipulation get to her. She was alive, and even though she no longer knew if she was capable of playing him at all, she had gotten what she wanted. Well, not exactly what she wanted, but that would come in time.

“So…” she looked towards her previous resting spot, “No more chest?” she asked tentatively.

With little more than a snort, he picked up his leather sarong, reslung it around his hips and padded away out of the tent.

4 Comments on One Charr’s Bauble – Pt. 3

  1. This is just the type of story I was looking for! Nicely written too. It’s a shame that you stopped working on the rest, would love to have read more!

  2. When will you guys will resume it? I am itching to know what happens next.

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