Rawn's emotions are like a turbulent sea stroke by a tornado. She can't decipher what exactly she's feeling; anger, self-loath, despise for Lyecan, pity, or disgust for her Horde.
There's just so many things going on at once, and she can't put her thoughts together. Lyecan isn't giving her the time to do that as well when he's dragging her through the woods, completely unbothered whether thorns and rocks are tearing her flesh or not.
By the time they get to the werewolf territory, Rawn's clothes have been shred to the last, and she's totally exhausted. But Lyecan doesn't give a fuck.
Eyes roll over her. Some as yellow as they can be, others cold like winter. None of the owners stand on their twos, but on their fours—the audience fitting a Firne offender.
Rawn finds herself in a steel cage sooner. It's not the type that one can sit and stretch their limbs. This one's crafted as if the maker took her measurement.
The cage's as tall as she is and restricts her from moving her body, as the rods press subtly onto her skin. This gives Lyecan the leisure to let his hands wander over her body like the latter were his newly-ported merchandise.
He doesn't breed mercy at the tip of his fingers, which is why Rawn feels none of that as those naughty hands of his reach even to grasp her succulent ass.
Rawn gasps. She didn't expect his hands to go there. In fact, she thought the only places they'd reside were her head, throat and chest.
Now, feeling them reach slowly to tender places nearly drives her to madness. Not the kind that stole her mother—the one tormenting her family's existence—but the general kind; that which runs in the blood of every creature provoked to pleasure.
She shouldn't have this sensation toiling in her most subtle spot, nor should she be shedding liquid anywhere other than her eyes. And worst of all, it's for the brutal Alpha who now lingers in her front, looking down at her with eyes that could kill, while his fingers still infringe where they shouldn't.
"You all try to deny it, but your kind was made for this very purpose, are you not?" He states as he walks past Rawn's cage to her back, where he grabs a stick of cigarette from among the trinkets on a small table and lits it, reaching between the cage's rods with his free hand to pinch Rawn's bare ass cheek.
The girl flinches from the sharp pain, groaning while resting the side of her face on the rod.
The room is quite dark and too small for her comfort. The ray of light from a small window cast directly on her. That forms beads of sweat on her skin.
And it doesn't help when Lyecan turns whiskey into a glass and moves to stand in front of her. He looks her in the eye before winking. Then he shifts his gaze to the plump breasts that are pushing out between rods.
He can't resist the urge to strike an index on her left nipple. That elicits another groan from Rawn. She feels herself dripping for him even though she hates it.
Every move Lyecan makes on her clasps her in throes of pleasure, taking a toll on her.
Now she just wants to pounce on this Alpha; feel his dick roll inside her.
Oh, how she hates herself for having these thoughts.
"What do you gain for keeping me like this?" She croaks out tiredly, sweat rolling down her forehead to her eyes. "Free me, please."
The Alpha remains silent. The fire in his eyes is gone, but that doesn't make them any less scarier—a pair of black irises with white circles around the pupils that seem like a ring light reflection.
The orbs look like full earth's moon possessed by the iniquities of Venus. Pure misery lies behind those eyes, and they're the misery he's bound to unleash on Rawn.
"You're… an Alpha," the poor girl drawls, "a prominent one who prefers using the prominent ladies as his sex doll. I'll only tarnish you."
Her eyelids feel heavy, but she tries to keep her eyes open.
Lyecan clicks his tongue. "No. You see that…" he puffs out smoke while pointing the cigarette stick to Rawn's face. The girl chokes on the smoke. "...that there—the horror in your voice—is what I want from you. You have nothing else to offer. But, my oh my, the satisfaction of your misery serves my insanity a cool. That way, in your next life, you won't ignore any warning about the Alpha." He draws his head toward Rawn's ear with a whisper, "I'll fuck you; over and over. And inasmuch as you want to feel my dick pulsating within you as I let out my seed into your insides, it won't happen. It ends in your filthy, miserable imaginations."
The Alpha grabs the whiskey glass from the table and pours a little alcohol on Rawn's right nipple before tipping down to lick it off, letting out a sharp breath as he wraps his lips around her nipple and sucks—hard and intensely.
Rawn finds herself enjoying the feeling, then at a point discovers she shouldn't. But she doesn't stop wanting it; arching for it, leaning more into the cage for Lyecan to give her a good suck.
"Please.." she croaks out.
Even she can't decipher if it's a plea for the Alpha to stop, or continue.
The session goes on for barely a minute before he pulls away from her. The latter moans her dissatisfaction.
Lyecan sits on a metal chair in front of the cage, where he watches Rawn's bruises—the ones running along her legs to her feet, and then her arms and neck.
He appreciates the sight of them, growing the urge to inflict more pain on the girl. But her eyes… her eyes are dull and heavy. Any moment now she could lose total control of her body.
Those dull gray orbs stare at him weakly, while he just sips his drink, observing her. Then, suddenly, he throws the whiskey glass to the floor.
The sound of the crash echoes in the room, causing Rawn to shudder as Lyecan steps on the pieces to approach her.
He takes the cage by a rod, tilts it down a bit and drags it across the room to the bathroom.
Rawn grunts in pain when Lyecan stands the cage under the shower. Shiver that she hadn't noticed before runs over her skin, banging within her flesh when the Alpha turns the shower on.
His hands doesn't leave her still. They trail over her thighs, legs, waists, stomach and shoulders. All the while avoiding her most sensitive areas.
When he finally squeezes her breasts, Rawn's lets out a satisfactory groan. She lifts her head up, strands of her wet hair sliding into her half open mouth.
Lyecan appreciates her supple ass and breasts, but what he loves even more is the way she submits to his touch; the way her soft skin embraces his palms, their friction moderate but sending tension between them. Sexual tension.
"I'm stressed, Rawn," he whispers hoarsely, "this is how I relieve my stress."
Lingering behind Rawn, he kneads his fingers into her shoulders before tracing the hollow division of her back.
"Fuck it!" he grunts, quickly undoing his pants.
Rawn hears his belt metal clanking, and her heart races at what to expect. But she's not given much time to think before Lyecan pulls her ass cheeks apart and thrusts his dick into her butthole.
Cold air escapes her lips alongside a yelp, her eyes widening to embrace the unhinged shower water that trickles down her hair.
She doesn't know which to accept between the pleasure and pain of Lyecan's action because she's fully away of what she wants, what she craved for—the fullness that now dominates her.