Everybody told stories. Garnet had heard them her whole life. Of twisted, ancient trees whose roots bound unwary travelers who rested under their branches, holding them until they rotted and provided morbid sustenance. Of tittering faeries, dancing on trails of sparkles, coaxing curious onlookers ever closer until they pitched into any number of lethal traps. Of luscious maidens bathing in rivers and lakes, laying sumptuous skin bare, luring men close until they fell prey to prehensile tresses of silken, strangling hair. Everybody in the village had their own favorite tale, passed down by grandparents or stolen from a passing merchant or built from personal experience nobody else could confirm. They varied in length and lethality and the exact triggers for catastrophe, and the creatures might even change from telling to telling, but the moral was always the same: there were monsters in the world, and only a fool traveled alone and unprepared.
But hearing was one thing, and seeing was another. Garnet had spent more than eighteen years in this town, and not once had she seen so much as a goblin. Despite making regular treks from her house on the outskirts of the village into the town center and back, she’d never been grabbed by a tree, or lured by laughter, or happened across a naked lady posing seductively by the side of a lake. It wasn’t as though she’d led a sheltered life devoid of any opportunity for mischief. The path took her through shady forests with naught a sign of humanity is sight besides the dirt footpath itself, and over the wooden bridge where she’d been sure trolls lurked as a child, and by low hedges capable of hiding malicious fey. And yet, no monsters had appeared. Not one. Not when she was an obedient child, not when she was a suspicious young adult, and not now that she was old enough for the men to ogle her unashamed. She’d never been one for a scientific mindset, leaving that to the apothecaries, but based on an overwhelming lack of evidence, she was starting to suspect those hordes of evil monsters didn’t exist.
Then there was the church. They had their own monsters. Angels and devils and all the creatures of God’s creation. Witches, perhaps… somedays, Garnet had to admit that she felt all but certain the apothecary’s housecat was no ordinary pet. But she didn’t believe in any of those, either. She had never seen or heard anything beyond the ordinary. They called bats and snakes and lizards monsters, but they weren’t monsters… any more than elk were. They were creatures of the world, and they intended harm only to humans who gave them a reason to fight back, not humans who failed to uphold some arcane list of rules. As she’d grown, she’d noticed how elders told stories to their youngers, and she’d begun to suspect the stories were no more than an attempt to frighten children into behaving as adults wanted. Becoming an adult had not dissuaded her from this view. She put no stock in the stories themselves, and she intended to live her life treating them as just that: stories.
And so Garnet had no fear when the apothecary lowered his eyes at her and told her his news. “The storm the other day knocked out the bridge. It’ll be a while before it comes back up.”
“Is that so?” She took the clay jar from his outstretched hand. “I’ll have to be careful then.”
“You’ll have to go the long way, through the deep woods. And the deep woods are no place for a girl alone.”
“Woman,” she corrected, as though he couldn’t tell. She’d seen his eyes flick down to her bosom, then flit away like nothing had happened. Had she worn a dress that exposed anything lower than her collarbone, she doubted she’d even have shown her that level of decency. “And I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe you should bring Aldis along?”
She thought of Aldis, as she often did. Of his broad shoulders, of his soft eyes, of the uncountable games and conversations they’d shared growing up together. She suppressed a sigh. “He’ll be felling trees by the lake, now. I’d rather not pull him away from it.”
“Then how about—”
“I’ll be fine,” she almost snapped. “I know how to take care of myself. I’ve heard the stories.”
“You be sure to mind them. And if anything seems off, you come right back. That poultice won’t spoil for a week, and your mother would understand the delay.”
“I will take your words to mind. Will that be all?”
They exchanged farewells, and Garnet pulled her crimson cloak around her body and raised the hood. She would deliver the medicine to her mother, and no fiction would deter her.
— — —
Garnet held the stories in no great reverence, but she wasn’t stupid. Had it been nighttime, or winter, or in the midst of a downpour, she would not have braved the poorly-trod path through the deep woods alone. Those were hazards she could understand, and they all warranted a companion to keep her going in the right direction and safeguard her from real, natural danger. She’d only decided to travel alone because it was a bright, sunny day, and the route was one she knew well. Her mother had taken her along it many a time before the bridge was built, and she knew it like the back of her hand even if she had spent the last several months in the town proper, living in the bakers’ back room while she apprenticed with them. It was familiar, brightly-lit, on a perfect spring day. There was no reason to delay delivery of her mother’s medicine just because she couldn’t drag her friend from his paying job.
Instead of fearing the deep woods, she delighted in them. She missed the birds chirping in the morning, a far less common event than it had been when she lived in her mother’s cabin. The breeze rustled through the trees more softly, more completely than it blew between tightly-packed houses. The sun didn’t beat down on her with leaves to blocks its rays; in town, her light spring cloak had been so hot she almost started sweating, but here in the shade it kept her pleasantly warm. It was a shame to leave the woods and move to the town proper, but such was the life of a baker. Given the choice between doing what she loved and living where she loved, she chose the former, and she balanced it by spending her free time on the outskirts.
Her experience did warm her of actual, non-imaginary dangers: beasts. No matter how brave or logical she was, a wolf was a wolf and a boar was a boar. It was best to steer clear of them; there was no benefit in intruding on their lives, and there was no way to tell when actions might trigger their ire. When she saw a sign of an animal, she steered clear. Thus it stopped her in her tracks when she saw an actual animal, lurking by the roadside, waiting for her.
She watched the grey, fluffy tail waving on one side of the tree, swaying gently like an idle cat rather than one about to pounce. Still, she saw no point in an unnecessary encounter. She picked up a small rock and tossed it, intending to drive the creature away.
A hand shot from the other side of the tree and grabbed her rock in midair, almost faster than she could see. An appeared from behind the tree, then a shoulder, and then the rest of the man attached to them. Garnet had not seen this man before, of that she was certain. It wasn’t his face that tipped her off, rugged thought it might have been, or his manner of dress, a tad too refined for one of her neighbors, but his ears, long and pointed and covered in dark fur. They poked from an otherwise unremarkable head of sepia hair, angled toward her, so strange and obvious she didn’t even see his mouth moved. “I believe you dropped this?”
“Guh?” she replied eloquently, already on her back foot even before she saw the tail sprouting from his back… and his tail, and his tail, and additional tails, too many for her to count at a glance. “W-what are you?”
He held his arm at his waist and bowed halfway, never letting his eyes leave her. “I am Roul. And you?”
“I’ve never seen a Roul before.”
“Few have.” He smiled, and she did not. “But I think you are confused. My name is Roul.”
“Oh.” She opened her mouth to give her name. Should she? Was there a tale about handsome many-tailed men suddenly introducing themselves? There was none she could recall, further evidence of the stories’ untruth—they warned her about trolls, which nobody alive had seen, but not this creature physically before her now? “Are you a fairy?”
“Quite the opposite. I assume you’ve never met a gumiho?”
“Gumiho…” she tried the word on and found it thorny. “And what do you do?”
“At the moment? Mourn for the state of our society, if a young woman levels so many questions before even introducing herself. Why, if she wasn’t so stunning, I might have stormed off in a huff. But alas, her beauty has captured me, and I would scarely sleep for three nights if I did not learn her name.”
Her composure gathered itself, perhaps before of the blood rushing to her face. “I apologize. My name is Garnet.”
He was on her in a second, holding out his hand. “An inestimable pleasure to meet you, Garnet.” She placed his hand in his, mostly out of force of habit, and he did not kiss it but press it to his forehead. “And what task would be so urgent that you would venture this far, Garnet?”
“My mother. I am to deliver a medicine to her.” She said it not just because it was polite. She also hoped the creature—the gumiho—might allow her to pass if he knew she wasn’t wandering idly. None of the spirits she knew would interfere with a pressing task. But then again, if he lived around the woods, perhaps he guarded the land, and thus he might be able to offer her a faster path than the one she knew. “Do you happen to know her?”
“Perhaps. But I am terrible with names. Let’s see, a woman who looks like you…” He stood back and looked her up and down, perusing every part of her body. Her cloak and dress hid much of it except unmistakable swells around her chest and hips, and he did linger on them for longer than she felt necessary. But he stared at her face most of all, considering her dark hair, pink lips, and long lashes over eyes the color of the head of Aldis’ axe. She blushed under his stare, trying and failing to look anywhere but back at him. “Might you be the daughter of the woman in the mountains?”
Her chest fell, though not far. “I’ve not heard of any woman in the mountains. By mother lives in a cabin southeast of here, on the far side of the river, not far from where the bridge is.”
“Of course, of course, my mistake.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Is medicine all you plan to deliver?”
“Why?” she smiled. “If I say otherwise, will you extract a toll?”
Roul pressed his hand to his chest in mock indignation. “I would never! I only ask out of concern for your poor mother’s well-being, not only physical but emotional. If you are delivering medicine, she must be sick, correct?”
“Only a minor scrape. I am bringing a poultice to help with the pain, not an antidote for poison.”
“Still, wouldn’t it warm her heart if you delivered something to brighten her cabin? Perhaps a few flowers from the side of the road?”
Garnet hesitated, recalling stories about flowers that resisted the picking, spraying bitter pollen into the face of their attackers. She tossed the thought away; after so long hearing story after story, rejecting them was a constant struggle. “Perhaps you’re right.”
He gestured around. “I find this is a perfect place for picking flowers.”
She looked around, seeing little but trees and grasses. “I don’t see any.”
“That’s funny,” he said an inch from her ear. She hadn’t even seen him move behind her. “I see one right now.”
A hand closed around her wrist, pulling it into the air. The leather cord holding her pouch over her shoulder snapped, the victim of a sharp tug. Her pouch dropped, thankfully into a soft ditch, and she heard no heart-rending cry of breaking clay. But she felt relief only dimly, crowded out as it was by the shock of Roul yanked her to the side of the road and pressing her back against a tree. “What?!” she tugged on her wrist, but it wouldn’t budge, pinned to the trunk above her as solidly as a steel manacle. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” He licked his lips and leered at her, and up close he suddenly seemed much taller. “I’m plucking a flower.” He slipped his other hand under her cloak and around her narrow waist, groping her through her dress with fingers of iron. She pushed against him, but she moved him no more than she would have moved a house. His hand drifted toward her rear, and she beat on his chest, only bruising herself. He squeezed so hard he nearly lifted her up, and she clawed at his face, leaving only thin pale lines for a moment. Even in her terrified fight-or-flight state, she saw him ignore every action she took, nonchalantly exploring her while she exhausted herself.
With few options left, she screamed, a high enough shriek to scare the birds from the trees. He did at least wince, and as she inhaled for a second attempt, he did release her wrist. Quick as a blink, his hand instead clamped around her neck, plugging the air in her lungs with his palm. She gurgled, a weak attempt at a cough, and grabbed onto his wrist, straining with all the power in her slim arms to pull him away. Again he ignored her, preferring to investigate her chest, testing it for weight and shape. Her mouth flapped, tasting the forest air but drawing it no further, and her eyes grew wide with panic, and he only tugged at her neckline and took a peek down. Her head swam and dizziness crowded the edges of her vision, a weightlessness extending to the fingers she could no longer keep wrapped around his forearm. She thought she saw him look at her and caress her cheek with one finger, just before her eyes rolled back.
Then she was in the dirt, on her hands and knees, heaving and retching. Sweet, cold air rushed into her burning chest. Through watery eyes she saw his boots, large and clean, inches from her fingers. “Now what did we learn about fighting back?”
She scrambled to her feet and sprinted along the uneven ground for only a moment before he caught up with her in a single bound. He grabbed her shoulder from behind, spinning her around so she landed on her rump, facing him. Still she scurried backward, putting precious if meaningless distance between them. “No,” she pleaded, down to her last option. “Please, don’t do this.”
He spread his arms and grinned wide. “But I want to, pet. A gorgeous young woman and a powerful man, alone in the woods, nobody for miles? Think of the possibilities.”
The tears didn’t stop, and her voice felt small. “What do you want?”
“Didn’t you hear me?” He reached her in a single step and knelt by her side. “Your flower.”
Garnet had no words for the swirl of emotions in her body. Her mind lifted, unburned by the fear of death it had held since Roul had first grabbed her. She was not to be eaten, or drowned, or hung from a tree as an example to others. If he was to believed, she would survive, and if he lied, she could do little about it. She chose to trust him, and for the moment she took comfort in her safety.
As high as her hope flew, her gut fell farther still. She knew what he meant, of course. She was no blushing girl, innocent of the ways of the world. Her mother had taught her well, and the words and deeds of the males in town confirmed it. Men desired women, and women could leverage that desire. Not that she had teased or enticed anybody, nor did she intent do, but even she would not pretend she hadn’t batted her eyes nicely while asking Aldis for some favor or bend a certain way to draw his eye. That wasn’t teasing, that was flirting. One day they would be husband and wife, of that she was certain, and she saw no issue with providing him a taste of what would one day be his.
But that was it. Her body was hers to give and would be, at times of her choosing, his to take, temporarily. It belonged to nobody else, certainly not some man in the woods with far too many tails. To give up her precious, closely-guarded chastity… it was not worse than death, but if it damaged her future with the boy who had occupied her thoughts for fifteen years, it seemed a close second. She stared up at him and shook her head, too distraught to even speak.
Roul blinked, then raised his arms. “There is another! Alas, I have come too late to claim this poor maiden’s heart. But I can claim your body. Tell me, pet, what might your beloved think if I returned you to your village a soiled woman?”
“No,” she panted again, “anything but that.”
She nodded, and regretted it. The stories warned about making promises with—no, the stories were empty, just words in ears putting thoughts in heads, no more. This was no fireside morality tale. This was her, now, doing what she needed to survive and protect her future. “What would you have me do?”
The command came so sharply, without pomp, she thought she’d misheard it. “What?”
“Strip. Show me that body you hide under such unflattering attire. Until I see fit to release you, you are my pet, and pets do not wear the clothes of humans, do they?”
Garnet turned red from her collarbone to her cheekbones. No man had seen her naked, not ever, and now she was to bare herself to a man she’d only met? And not even a man, a creature of the forest masquerading as one. But facing no other option, she could only nod, stand, and get to work.
She did not see her clothes as unflattering. Her red cloak didn’t hug her curves, but nor did it drape over her like a burlap sack. More, it brought out the glow in her cheeks and the color of her lips, a part of the whole. It went first, laid carefully in a patch of grass by the road. Her dress came next, and on that she would argue. This dress did cinch around her waist, accentuating her chest and hips, and it wrapped around her upper arms, exposing the tops of her shoulders. It did fall to her ankles, unlike the more seductive garments worn by the women she knew who had no Aldis waiting for them, but it only took a long step for the shape of her leg to become clear. She unlaced it and held it tight around her torso, considering for a last moment the wisdom of escaping through the trees again, but her logic won out and she pulled the dress over her head.
Roul whistled when she came into view, eyeing her chest protected only by a strapless cloth bra. Rather than let him see beneath it, she took her time with her half-slip, unlacing it and pushing it down her legs with the speed of molasses. She stepped out of her shoes, rubbing her toes in the dirt to check for rocks or branches on which she might step. She hesitated, hoping her near-nakedness would be sufficient, but he casually waved her ahead. Her hands shook so much she almost couldn’t remove her bra, but it too joined the stack of discarded clothes, and finally her panties fell, leaving her fully bare before her tormentor.
He examined her from head to toe, drinking in her pale skin, her breasts still high with the benefit of youth, and her hips flaring out above her thighs. “Incredible,” he muttered, stepping nearby to see her up close. “This is a body built for sex. I wonder why your man hasn’t claimed you yet.”
“He has civility.” She words burst from her mouth unbidden, and she wished she could grab then from the air before they reached his ears.
“Indeed,” Roul growled; she saw teeth. “He is a man, of course, and I am but a lowly beast. But then what does that make you, who lets a beast give her orders?”
She clenched her fist; it stopped some of the shaking. “I don’t know.”
“It makes you a thing. An object. A toy. Just a bit of amusement I’ll have for a while and never think about again.” He ran a finger down her neck, and she could swear she felt a point on it. “Say it.”
“I—” her voice caught on a sob swallowed too late. “I’m a toy.”
“Good. And what does a toy do for its owner?”
She stood, at a loss. “It… ah, it…”
“It gives its owner pleasure. It lets its owner play with it. It sits around and looks nice, only acting when called upon to act, and always in the service of its owner’s amusement. Do you understand?”
Garnet nodded a few too many times. “I do.” He waved her on. “I’m your… your plaything. An-and I’ll let you do whatever you want with me. Just please don’t—”
The hand wrapped around her throat again. “Your time for making requests is over. You do what you’re told. Now, stand there.” He bent forward until they were face-to-face. “I’m going to explore my new toy.” The grip on her neck loosened, yet the fingers tracing delicate paths over her neck bound her just the same. He cupped her face, running his thumb over her cheek. When it reached her lips, he pushed it in until her teeth blocked it. A small growl melted her resistance, and she loosened her jaw, allowing him to caress her tongue. She dare not turn her head, but her eyes stared over his shoulder, trying to occupy her with the trees instead of the taste of skin in her mouth. “Look at me,” he whispered, and she did, blinking away tears and muting whines as he watched her expression quiver.
One whine did escape when he touched her bare side, sweeping over her midsection with a hand she had forgotten. It walked upward, saving her from the worst possible situation, though she still cringed when it reached the underside of her breast. His fingers glided over the pert lump, softer than even the thinnest slip, drawing goosebumps from her arms. He deftly avoided her nipple, drawing circles around it like a carrion bird waiting for its prey. “Is this how you imagine him touching you?” Though a whisper, his voice dripped with condescension. “Is this what you like? A man’s hands on you, treating you gently, making you happy you’re a woman?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say, nor could she say it through her tight throat.
“But you’re not a woman, are you?” He placed his thumb and forefinger on opposite ends of her nipple, holding it firmly just this side of a squeeze. “You’re a doll. You’re my doll. And what does a doll want?”
She sniffled, but this time silence was not an option. “Oo pease hoo.”
“Correct. A doll wants to please its owner.” He withdrew his thumb and wiped her spit all over her lips. “And I want to claim you.”
“No,” she coughed, “you promised.”
“I promised nothing,” he chortled, and she was forced to admit the same. “If you don’t want me to take you, here and now, offer me something else instead. What could you do to please me as much as that?” He circled her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other just under her chest. “Think carefully.”
Garnet thought. She thought as hard as she’d ever thought in her life, racking her brain for every skill, every trait, every action she could perform to satisfy this creature she barely knew. “I could… cook for you? I’m a b-baker, and I—”
“And how, I ask, would you bake for me in the woods? Or would you rather lead me back to your village, strutting naked through the streets until you can show me your kitchen. I have no need of food. Right now, I have need of a woman.” A hand moved lower, curling around her belly button. “Think harder.”
She tried to think of every conversation she’d overheard from the married women in town, the ones who talked in loving tones about their husbands and received the same loving tones back. Clearly, those men were happy with those women. What did they do? What had they mentioned in their furtive, blushing whispers? “I could bathe you. A-and wash you all over, like—”
“A bath! So I’m unclean, am I? Unlike you, pure as the driven snow, I’m just beast in the woods. And yet here you are, begging for a beast’s favor. No, I’ll accept no service from you that you might give to a dog. You are the pet, not I.” The hand moved lower still, perilously close to her clenched thighs. “Think. Harder.”
What else did they say? What did they talk about when they thought she wasn’t listening? Surely the most powerful action was the one they kept the most secret. What conversations had the woman tried to her to hide from her ears? And then it hit her, and she trembled with fear. “I could… pleasure you with my mouth?”
The hand stopped. “Go on.”
“I could t-take off your pants, and get on my knees, and… kiss you, and lick you, and s-suck on you.”
“Is that what you want?”
She recognized the trap. “I want to please you.”
“It would please me to hear you beg like the animal you are.”
She swallowed; her saliva caught in her throat, and she coughed before attempting it again. “Please let me suck on you. I want to pleasure you with my mouth.”
The arms disappeared, and she breathed as though they had been compressing her lungs. She heard him rustling behind her, and she knew what he was doing, but she couldn’t bear to turn around, not until he cleared his throat. The following three steps were the hardest of her life, as she turned around and saw him with his trousers undone.
Her mother had told her what to expect, but the reality of it still shook her to her core. It was, nominally, like the mushroom she had used as a visual aid, with a round head up top and a stalk below. But no example from underneath a tree had prepared her for seeing it in person, and to her untrained eye it seemed gruesome, a rod of flesh hanging from the front of a body where nothing but smooth skin should lie. She stared, mouth open, for the better part of a minute, half-expecting it to extend and bite her. It took the cool breeze blowing against her naked body to remind her of her situation, and with a quiet nod to steel herself, she dropped to her knees.
She hand to lean forward and tilt her head back nearly beyond her limits to get the tip into her mouth. It seemed even bigger against her lips, pursed to suckle on him like a hard candy. He loomed over her, even larger than when she had been standing, with an ominous frown whenever she looked up for approval. “Deeper. No teeth.” She dare not nod, and she widened her jaw as wide as she could, letting more of the fleshy mass pass through. It lay on her tongue, bitter and salty, triggering another cough. She closed her lips and sucked again, and she gave a muted squeak when she felt it twitch. He sighed when she moved her tongue and growled when she sat still, so she did anything she could think of, tapping and rubbing and curling around his head. His taste reached every corner of her mouth, and though she tried to suppress it she couldn’t avoid a gulp.
The longer the worked, the more it changed. Originally it had been soft and pliable, something she could move around. It grew harder, thicker, longer, all trying her body and creativity. Her jaw dropped more and more to accommodate it without touching it with her teeth, and her tongue resorted to just licking it back and forth while it sat in her mouth. It started curving upward, and she followed, thankfully taking some of the strain off her neck and back. He grumbled whenever she took her eyes off of his, forcing her to roll them far back to keep him in sight as he grew ever upward. She settled into her situation, nowhere near comfortable or happy but, for once, not worried about her physical safety.
He allowed her that delusion for only a minute. “Beg me to fuck your face.”
She gasped. She knew the word. She’d heard her elders, especially men, say it until they noticed she was around, and she’d heard it in quiet conversations she couldn’t have heard. She knew its meaning, and she’d tried it on once or twice, blushing and giggling each time. Here, naked on her knees, it took on a more ominous connotation, and she finally saw it for its true, raw meaning. She pulled back, letting him fall from her lips with a thin trail of saliva attached, and whimpered, “please fuck my face.”
There was pressure on the back of her head, and then her mouth was full, and it took her a moment to realize why. She screamed, but the head crammed at the top of her throat blocked everything, even air. She pushed against his hips with all the force her arms would allow, and she tried to stand, but nothing she did budged her head even an inch. He took a single step forward, pushing her off-balance and knocking her onto her rear end, and he didn’t deign to respond to her fists banging against his thighs. He only pushed himself deep and held there, cutting off her airway while she struggled in vain. She had no chance to breathe before he acted, and already emptiness welled at the top of her chest as her body cried out for breath. Her grip went slack and her vision lilted, and the only comfort she could take as that Roul’s giant form faded away.
Then the block disappeared, and she sucked in two cold gulps of air before it was back, jabbing her throat with its head. It withdrew and pounded in again, and again, and she used the gaps between as opportunities to breathe. As the world came back into color, she became aware of how his fingers tangled in her air, how his shaft felt scraping against her tongue, how his toned stomach lurched forward until it almost touched her nose. The reality became clear, and she could only brace for impact, letting him use her just as she’d asked and praying it satisfied him.
“You’re awful at this,” he said, and she shame burned in her face for reasons she didn’t understand. “You’re not even a good cocksucker. I should flip you over and fuck your pussy instead. Maybe that’s at least a decent hole.” His guttural voice matched his change in tone, and she had no doubt he would do it in a second. She tried to respond, to please him, sucking again and moving her tongue and giving off whatever quiet moans she could force. “Oh, that did it? You’re finally getting into it. Maybe you’re just a natural who hadn’t had a chance to learn. Is that it? Are you a natural-born cocksucker?”
“Mm-hm!” she replied; whatever he said was correct as long as it kept her alive.
Her words didn’t calm him. If anything they drove him into a fever pitch, raping her mouth with all the force his unnatural body could muster. “This is where you belong, pet. Underneath an owner who knows how to give you what you deserve.” Her grabbed her head with both hands, pushing her into each of his thrusts, ignoring every gag and mewl she couldn’t suppress. Tears streamed from her eyes and drool leaked from her lips down her chin, and she let both happen, taking no action except those he directed. Nails, sharper than she expected, dug into her scalp and drove her ever-forward, and bit by torturous bit her throat gave way to let him farther in. His strokes got longer, his breathing more ragged, his tails more animated, while she faltered, reduced only to his masturbatory prop. Only her senses still worked, and she looked up at him, pleading silently.
Once glance down was all it took, and she felt him throb in her mouth. He pulled fully out for the first time in uncountable minutes, leaving only one hand on her head while the other stroked his shaft. While she coughed and sobbed, sticky whiteness splattered all over her face, warm and wet but cooler than shame and drier than tears. She sniffed, sucking a dollop of it into her nose, and she keeled over to expel it, forcing him to loose his last few shots into her hair.
He pushed her to the dirt with his foot and raised his pants. “Not a bad job for your first time. I suppose it was good enough. Since you begged so nicely, I will leave and allow you to keep your chastity.” He crouched next to her and grabbed her hair, yanking it up until she saw his face. “Thank me for teaching you.”
She froze, too tired and stunned to even hold herself up. “Th-thank you.” He craned an ear toward her and waited. “Thank you… for… for teaching me to s… s… suck cock, sir.”
Roul laughed with amusement. “Always happy to help a young, stupid maiden like yourself… the skills of the pupil reflect on the teacher, wouldn’t you say?” Garnet could only nod in misery as she tried to catch her breath, barely paying attention… but her attention snapped into focus as he took another step towards her and she was to her horror that his dick had grown no softer. She didn’t know much about sex, but she had heard more than enough to know that men were supposed to not do that, right? It was the butt of every young woman’s joke about the inability of a man to satisfy them… now, she was feeling anything but satisfied, and the stranger seemed perfectly able to keep going.
Her eyes widened as he grabbed onto her cum-stained hair and shoved himself back into her mouth, making her gag and wretch as he stuffed her mouth full again. “I don’t think your skills are up to snuff yet… and I won’t be known as a poor teacher. I have my reputation to consider,” he growled at her as he began stuffing himself down her throat again…
Garnet didn’t know how long she was on her knees for… balanced between waking and blackness by whispers of air. She scratched as his thighs, tried to push him back, but right before her eyes the tiny nail marks disappeared. After he had cum into her stomach three of four times, she actually tried to bite him. That had been a mistake. He had cursed, pulled out, and swiftly punched her across the face with a deadly growl on his tongue. By the time he shoved back into her, she noticed that not even her lips could feel the marks her teeth had left… they were gone as if they had never existed. Still, she was careful to keep her mouth as open as she could from then on… the look in his eyes as he beat her for the touch left her sure he’d be delighted to beat her to death for doing it again.
More than once she passed out, only to wake up with his cock still shoving in and out of her. With the canopy of trees, she couldn’t even guess by the position of the sun. All she knew was that by the time his cock finally began to shrink her stomach felt bloated and swollen.The moment he pulled out, she didn’t hesitate… instead of taking deep breaths like she wanted to, she forced herself to speak, they way he wanted her to after each and every time. “Thank you for rap… for raping my face.”
A satisfied smirk covered his face. “That will do,” Roul announced finally. He threw her to the ground and sauntered over to her pile of clothes. From it he extracted her bra and panties, and he tucked them into his pocket. “A souvenir of our time together. I will always remember you Garnet.” He bowed and grinned, showing every tooth. “I hope you remember me.”
She didn’t see him leave, not with her head between her knees as she bawled.
3 thoughts on “Garnet and the Fox – Chapter 1”
God that’s hot.
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Glad you enjoyed it! 2 more chapters coming.
Ah, poor Garnet. Roul is a fantastic villain, even if (especially if?) he’s a bastard that I want to see suffer slowly.