A Hunting Ritual: Part 3

September 14, 2019

He had given her permission, as was part of the ritual, to fight back. Just like a wild ***, caught in a predator’s grasp, she was allowed to punch, kick, bite, and do anything else she could to stay alive. So long as she did not purposefully hit him between the legs, it was his role as the primal predator to overpower her. She did not have a chance.

The two of them collided and she had raised her hands to cushion the impact, but now he had his arms wrapped around her body, and he was hugging her tightly so that she could not free her arms. She thrashed for a split second, whimpering in genuine *** at what might come next. His jaw opened wide and he buried his face in her neck. She screamed for that half a moment, the *** unreal with his teeth sinking into her flesh, and then she went limp. He supported her weight, their naked bodies pressed together, and in his adrenaline-fuelled lust he threw her body over his shoulder. He could feel the paste-lines on her skin, smugging against his, but he would taste his kill soon enough.

The sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves awoke her, her arms dangling down his back. He still wore his waist cloth, as did she, but other else they were still completely naked, and she watched the lines of his muscles ripple beneath his slender form. That was something she loved about him. He was not the widest or most muscled man she had ever met, in fact he was skinny compared to the rest of the male race, but he was twice as strong as he looked, and his slim body only defined his muscles more. It made her want to lick his stomach, to feel his abdominal muscles with her tongue, but she was now playing the part of dead prey. He had his kill, and now it was time to feast.

She could see a faint glow at the edges of her vision, the candles becoming brighter as they drew nearer, and then he was laying her down gently. Her body remained limp, making him do all of the work in getting her into position. This was what he wanted, so her body obeyed by doing nothing at all. He positioned a candle between her slightly-parted legs, and she wanted to fidget, but knew that he would not endanger the wellbeing of any part of her. The candle was warm, but not hot, on her labia, and the *** was kind of fun. A large cylinder of white wax and fire, threatening a *** of intense heat. It was not the first time this ritual had been performed with her, but like knife-play, it was a scary thrill. She wanted desperately now, to lift her head and watch him, but dead ***s do not move.

He kneeled beside her, skimming his hands over her skin like a butcher about to skin their meat, and then he lowered his head and huffed through his nostrils, chin on her left breast. His tongue slipped from between his lips and he licked up the paste that marked her skin. She gasped, his hand shot to her mouth, and he hovered his face over hers with a finger on his lips.

“Tonight, my meal comes before yours. Now play dead.”