The Wolf and bunny.

January 9, 2018

There is a special place in the wolf's den for the bunny. Captured as prey, the bunny knows little dignity or respect. The gnashing maw of the wolf affords no mercy to the pitiful creature. Screeching and in agony, the bunny pleads in vain for dear life, cries that fall on keenly deaf ears. In silent resolve, the bunny finally learns the inevitability of fate. For the brief glimmer of a lifetime, the wolf will love the bunny as only predator can love prey: passionately; the two become one in the same.

Will you venture into the wolf's den, brave reader, to watch the spectacle unfold? On hand and knee, would you trespass upon the scene for your own guilty pleasure? If the splintering of bone and tearing of sinew doesn't repulse you, do read on. Weep not, faithful reader, for there are many ways to be devoured; the wolf doesn't always feast on the bunny. This is just such a tale.

In the dim light, observe the poor, trapped female, agony evident on her angelic face. She was unsure how long she had been in this position, but her legs were a fusion of cramps from kneeling on them bent beneath her with knees spread wide. Her back on fire from the tension of being held so upright, unable to relax even a moment due to the pillory on her shoulders, securing her hands up near her neck. Despite the cherry stained wood being held up by chains connected to the corner the girl inhabits, its weight was unmistakable and oppressive, its hold on her posture unyielding. If you weren't looking closely, you might even overlook the deeply colored yoke, lost in the red waves of her disheveled hair.

Labored breathing would be first to beckon the Wolf. Before he even emerged from the shadows, he would have caught her scent: vex mixed with sex, the sweat of *** and the wet arousal of her cunt, of anger, frustration, and ***. Above all else, her ***, so intoxicating to him. That *** represented how acutely aware she was of her predicament, it echoed with her understanding and respect of his abilities, it confirmed she could feel him. With such ***, there was no question why she refused to look at him as he stood before her, a towering mass with an icy, dark air about it.

Oh, how she wished she could stare augers at him, glare a hole right through his chest with her disgust. She wanted to yell at him with every ounce of strength she could muster, which consequentially, wasn't a lot. She swore to herself that if he got close, she'll bite him, hard enough so the beast can bleed. Of course, she wouldn't act on any of that, and even despite the shock of his heated palm against her cheek, she found herself nuzzling against him endearingly. That is, until he stuffed his big, dirty man thumb into her mouth, hooking her tear-stained cheek and forcing her mouth open; then, that searing hatred was back.

She heard him chuckle as the extremity explored her mouth, tracing her teeth and tussling her tongue, forcing it back to gag her. Her eyes darted up towards his face, but stopped abruptly at his smirk, not daring to see what's on his mind through those cold eyes. Instead, she flushed, a crimson heat covered her face and naked chest, down into her inner thighs. She could feel that gaze on her flesh, already violating her. Rather than horror struck, she found herself intensely aroused, suckling at his callused thumb and grinding her crotch against the floorboards lewdly.

With a hallow pop, he pulled the digit from her plump lips, thin stings of saliva dangling between her and him. He wiped his slick thumb across her cheek and over the bridge of her nose leaving behind a trail of spit. She felt upset again, *** erupting over arousal as she remembered her sore body. That wasn't the entire truth, though; she hadn't forgot the *** and it only intensified her arousal. Her anger resurfaced at the realization of his control over her that even as he unzipped his slacks, she sat there with mouth agape and eyes full of glee, imploring to taste him.

Of course she knew, nothing so desired comes at a cheap cost. She lustfully studied as he reached into his pants and pulled out his swollen cock, not fully erect yet. The head jutted just inches from her face, and she felt as if by leaning forward, she could swallow him whole. The Wolf was quicker however, gripping the pillory between her wrist and neck and catching her hair sharply in the handhold. This prevented her from being able to turn her head, even as he took to rubbing his member all over her face. Still, she did not close her mouth.

As if starving and he would feed her, she held her jaw brazenly open. She barely flinched as he slapped her with his stiffening member several times, harder each time until her cheek were rosy red. He cruelly outlined her soft lips, pulling away whenever she would try to taste him with her warm tongue. She began to growl in frustration, his turgid tease rod bobbing just outside her reach. With two fistfuls of hair, he buried her nose in his crotch; his scent seeped into her, the rich, pungent smell of male sex and aggression. She let it wash over her, a familiar comfort that she felt in the pit of her stomach.

Comfort is fleeting, loyal reader, whether you are the bunny - or the voyeur. With this in mind, I must caution you from continuing this sordid tale. Not to suggest your gentle sensibilities and noble morality might find offense in such a primal exchange, but how do I impress upon you the mutual enjoyment of such extreme carnal brutality? Would you even believe the elation the bunny feels once the wolf's fangs clamp shut, bring the anticipation of the chase to climax? Can a fuckhole be ravenous enough to welcome the depraved attention of the very monsters among us?

Still, her mouth is gaping.

Well, only for that moment. His long, bulging tool invaded her mouth with such ferocity, her eyes welled and tears spilled immediately down her cheek. She tried to gag, but the bastard beast only pushed deeper, forcing his way into her gullet. He just held himself there, her nose pressed against his abdomen and hairy balls against her chin. Clutching frantically with her trapped hands, she fought for air any way she could, which in short, was no way. Her eyes grew wild, as if she could scream with a look. Almost absently, he slid out of her mouth leaving her to sputter and gasp for her breath.

It was only a gasp before his dick was back in her throat. No matter how she tried to avoid his ***, his grip in her hair prevented more than a ***ful wince on her behalf. So, lost in the resolve of being his plaything, she begrudgingly relaxed to his gyrations, pumping at her face. It is simple enough to say he face-fucked her, but this would certainly belittle the intensity of his passion. It was only a few deep strokes until her face was covered in spittle and pieces of forgotten food, and once he finally pulled his manmeat out of her mouthcunt, her lips felt swollen and sore, *** slightly trickled her chin. Saying he face-fucked her would be a lot like saying the wolf romances the bunny to dinner.

Between gulping for air and spitting furiously, words rushed out of her empty mouth. “Please, cum in my whore mouth...I'm begging you, shoot your spunk down my throat if you wish...just let me taste you...I'm begging...feed me your pleasure...” Her breasts heaved as if to accentuate every hungry word, and she seemed to smack her crotch against the floor as she bounced in expectancy; a puddle had formed under her and she seemed to splash a little each hop. With mascara trails on her cheeks and crimson spit dripping her chin, she looked up at him with those pleading eyes only prey can give.

“Silly, poppet. This wasn't about you sucking my cock,” his calm, measured tone infuriated her. He didn't bother putting his rigid fuckstick away as he faded into the shadows. With a chuckle, he spoke salaciously, “This was about me fucking kitty's ass.” Soon after, the poor, soiled bunny could hear the poor kitty's cries from another room.