09-06-2020, 10:14 AM
it was a blood-soaked feast
that never ceased
that never ceased
Her cry of frustration is met with a smug grin that cracks across the pearl of his lips. He realizes that he is quite lucky to have found such a creature in a compromising position - he is powerful, of course, but surely her lack of sight remains the only reason he is not torn to pieces beneath her fangs and swiping tail. He almost wishes she had use of her eyes; how frustrated would she become to know that each time she finds purchase on his waterlogged skin that he was simply healing himself?
There is a low laugh of delight as his grip wraps around her throat, a delectable shiver traversing down his spine. He cannot remember the last time he held a life like this and it intoxicates him like no other. The stallion brings himself to her, unable to keep his distance, wanting to hear the sound of her gasping breath as she finds it harder and harder to breathe with each inhale. In a moment he could easily force water to rush into her flaring nostrils and mouth (he’s done it before) and drown her where she stands. But he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to tighten like a snake, intentional and almost artistic in the way he expertly applies pressure to her windpipe. He holds her there, on the cusp of darkness and death, his warm breath fogging against the shining armor of her skin.
He wants to tell her to quit struggling, to stop fighting him and give in, but part of him is entertained by her determination and he finds her sheer will to gut him even with his hands around her throat simply awe-inspiring. He’s wondering if she’s killed before - has she held that power as he does now? Does she relish in it, as he does? The thoughts bring another haunting smile to his lips that only widens as a choking laugh escapes her onyx mouth.
Maugrim assumes her answer would have been ‘yes’.
“I believe I’ve won, dearie,” he chides her with a near singsong in his watery voice, now holding her so tightly that it is a wonder she is still standing at all. “Perhaps next time I won’t be so lucky.” He’s close enough now that he could nearly kiss her brow, but he is only listening to her ragged breath and imagining the sound of a racing, frightened heart. Though he doubts that fear could slip into the cracks of her shining armor. With a disappointed sigh, the tendril of water that held her tosses her away from him as it releases. In the same movement, he turns away to move onward towards his final destination, already making plans to ensure they meet again.
There is a low laugh of delight as his grip wraps around her throat, a delectable shiver traversing down his spine. He cannot remember the last time he held a life like this and it intoxicates him like no other. The stallion brings himself to her, unable to keep his distance, wanting to hear the sound of her gasping breath as she finds it harder and harder to breathe with each inhale. In a moment he could easily force water to rush into her flaring nostrils and mouth (he’s done it before) and drown her where she stands. But he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to tighten like a snake, intentional and almost artistic in the way he expertly applies pressure to her windpipe. He holds her there, on the cusp of darkness and death, his warm breath fogging against the shining armor of her skin.
He wants to tell her to quit struggling, to stop fighting him and give in, but part of him is entertained by her determination and he finds her sheer will to gut him even with his hands around her throat simply awe-inspiring. He’s wondering if she’s killed before - has she held that power as he does now? Does she relish in it, as he does? The thoughts bring another haunting smile to his lips that only widens as a choking laugh escapes her onyx mouth.
Maugrim assumes her answer would have been ‘yes’.
“I believe I’ve won, dearie,” he chides her with a near singsong in his watery voice, now holding her so tightly that it is a wonder she is still standing at all. “Perhaps next time I won’t be so lucky.” He’s close enough now that he could nearly kiss her brow, but he is only listening to her ragged breath and imagining the sound of a racing, frightened heart. Though he doubts that fear could slip into the cracks of her shining armor. With a disappointed sigh, the tendril of water that held her tosses her away from him as it releases. In the same movement, he turns away to move onward towards his final destination, already making plans to ensure they meet again.
m a u g r i m.
@[Fiorina]