Tags - Maledom, femsub, degradation, humiliation, transformation, big cock, tit trample, cockslap, facefuck
Way back when. Not too far from here.
In the slopes and hills above Odys, snowflakes lazily fell, in no particular rush to lose their individuality and become a part of something far greater. Accumulation was just starting, and for now, it was an amusing couple of inches. A woman stomped through the snow, delighting in the novelty. The man behind her grumbled that it looked like they were going to receive at least half a foot, using his meteorologic powers of enduring manly cynicism.
They walked near a bluff's edge, outlining the bustling capital below them. From up here, it was reduced to a gridded pattern of twinkling pretty lights, when in reality, it was a ravenous civil machine that ground people up. It would take in young hopeful men and women, seeking their fortunes, and turn them into aged, bitter, and broken versions of themselves, looking to flee back to the countryside where they came from to die.
"I hope they have fun first," the woman said. The wind picked up, and she gripped the bundle in her arms a little tighter. "Almost home, sweetie."
The man took the lead and flattened the snow in front of her so she could walk in his footsteps. They reached the cabin and he went inside, "I'll start the fire up."
"I could do it too, honey," she said, extending a hand with her fingers poised to snap.
"No, no... sometimes a man wants to do something with his own hands," he said.
"And what if a woman wants to do something with her own hands? Sometimes it's the only way we can finish."
He glowered at her, but relented and smiled in the face of her waggling eyebrows. He shook his head and continued in.
"I'll just be a minute, dear," the woman said, looking up at the sky.
He lingered in the doorway, but shut the door behind him as he got on with the manly handling of wood.
She walked back to their garden, currently dormant and slumbering. Her steps took her around the wall that broke the wind, and towards the edge of the bluff near their home. Here, there was a pair of ropes, secured to a tree, which was slowly dying.
She looked around, to make sure she was alone on this precipice. Then, she reached up and pulled back the hood of her cowl and revealed her horns, dark as her long hair. The wind tousled her hair as her horns remained adamant and unmoving. The horns were short enough to be concealed within her cowl without drawing suspicion, four inches of proof of her demonic lineage.
"Look," she said. "Snow."
The bundle in her arms was sleeping, a baby with dark hair and small horns on his soft skull. He opened his eyes and stared at her with a bewildered expression, and then shut them again, resuming his doze.
"Snow," she repeated. "We don't have snow at home. Take a look."
The baby kept on sleeping, oblivious to such weather concerns, snuggling closer to her bosom.
"It's just cold water but it even has a taste. Like tin," she said. "Which kind of tastes like blood. Isn't that funny?"
She stared at him, amazed that she had managed to construct a being that seemed so perfect in every way. She felt a happiness that she knew was temporary. Maybe tomorrow would bring sorrow, but right now, his cheeks bulged with cherubic innocence, and he looked like a fat squirrel. She laughed because she could.
Suddenly she felt it - malice in the air, like a swarm of metallic bees.
Her laughter died away abruptly.
The death of laughter... what an interesting human phrase, she thought. That seemed appropriate though. All joy is alive, a presence she felt as a lightness in her heart, and it almost always died tragically young.
She felt something out there, could sense it with her ability to see into the hearts of men. A group of mercenaries were approaching with a clear purpose in mind. She was adept at reading and sensing desire, and these men were professionals with a practiced bloodlust, a job that had to be done. She hurried back to the cabin.
The man cursed at the cold hearth, where his shaking fingers were making him clumsier than usual. "Sorry. Almost got it," he said, uttering one of those husband lies that wives let them say.
"Leave it," she said and her tone made him look up at her.
"What is it?" he asked, approaching her.
"Take him," she said. "We have company. And I intend to be a good hostess."
"No," he said, grabbing his sword off the table, where it laid, out of place, next to a pair of bowls, a lit candle, and a cheesy romance novel. "You stay with him," he said, not looking directly at the baby.
"No, my love," she shut her eyes and reached out with her senses. "You know some of these men. Worked with them. You introduced me to them and I met their wives. And you are a good man with too much mercy."
He gaped at her. "Who?"
She shook her head with a soft smile. "I have given you much, my Love, but this I will not."
He took the baby, who immediately began to fuss now that he was no longer in his mother's embrace. He laid down his sword.
The woman's eyes were glowing like embers in the low light of their cabin, and as he watched, her horns grew larger into a malefic crown upon her head. The back of her clothes began to pulse and thrash, like snakes in a bag until the fabric burst and two leathery wings unfolded. Her fingers flexed, and he watched as her nails darkened and lengthened into claws. She inhaled, and while her lungs and chest expanded, she seemed to grow taller, larger, or perhaps it was purely perception, and now she occupied more presence than actual physical space.
The man forced himself not to take a step back from the woman he loved, though he felt a reflex within his hindbrain to do so. She was still beautiful, would always be beautiful to him, but now it was a beauty edged with sadistic arrogance, an expression that proclaimed she was entitled to your suffering and pain.
"Please don't look at me, my love," she said.
"I... can't look away," he choked out, sweat beading on his temple as he stared at her.
Melancholy softened her features as she reached out with a hand, and covered his eyes. "Close. Relax. Breath."
He breathed out a heavy sigh of relief as the charm-induced tension left his body.
"Don't open them until I leave," she said. "Sleep, my lovely," she traced a finger down her baby's chubby squirrel cheeks. The baby stopped its fussing and quieted in his father's arms. Her voice echoed and reverberated despite her quiet whispers, lingering in the mind, bouncing back and forth with cloying insistence.
***
Jay woke up gently, eyes fluttering.
He saw hills of rolling snow and thought that was odd because he wasn't the slightest bit cold. The haze of sleep lifted from both his vision and thoughts as snow-covered hills became white sheets over his legs.
"You hungry?" Veera asked from the tiny table in the corner. It was a small table even for a normal-sized person, and Veera sat bent heavily over it as she ate a chicken leg.
Jay shook his head, in an attempt to clear it as well as answer in the negative.
"You sober?" she asked, holding up a bottle in the other hand.
"Look," she said, "if you don't eat, you're just going to get hungrier. And if you don't drink, you're just going to get more sober."
He felt different though. His senses seemed altered in a way he couldn't quite place, but he felt like his veins itched. Or maybe that he could just feel them, aware of the pressure his blood exerted on his veins and arteries. Could feel the heat of his blood as it coursed through him.
He looked at Veera and she looked different too, once again in a way he couldn't quite place his finger on. After a few moments of watching the woman enjoy her food and drink, he realized she wasn't any different. She was still the hedonistic barbarian who enjoyed fighting, drinking, and fucking. What was different was the way he saw her.
He could see the layers of need and want layered atop each other. This wasn't to say she was somehow incapable of independence and means, but he could see how all those tangles of wants and needs formed habits and skills that fell within molds.
"You're right," Jay said, stretching an arm above his head, the other hand bracing behind the outstretched arm's elbow. Then he switched them. "I'd like some food and drink."
Veera smiled broadly. "Good! I have brought plenty. Meat, ale, and then fucking!"
Jay felt a hunger within him, but it wasn't for food. It was a hunger for Veera's hunger. To give her that which she craved. He had sexually dominated other women before, and he would do so with Veera. However, he couldn't overpower her. She would probably rather die than be physically overpowered. Trying to outflank her with pleasure hadn't worked because she was someone who had never, ever had to practice patience for delayed gratification. She had strength to secure what she wanted, and she acted on impulse - decisively, like any leader should with the fate of many on her shoulders.
"Veera," he said, his voice dropping to a low husky whisper. "Could I please get a kiss first? We've fucked, and we're going to later, but if it's not too much trouble, could you just grant me a kiss?"
It was certainly laying it on thick. Too thick for most situations, but Veera grinned. "Of course, little Jaybird."
Jaybird? That's a new one. But it was spoken with playful teasing, not without affection. It wasn't a cruel jeer.
Jay raised the sheets to his chest, modestly as he tilted his chin up. Veera towered over the bed, and then bent down, hands on her elbows. Her red mane draped forward as she closed her eyes, expecting an almost chaste peck.
When their lips met, Veera gave a stifled moan, her knees buckling slightly. She felt gentle hands caress the base of her neck and clavicle, then travel up to rest on her cheeks tenderly. The world seemed to spin around her, her heart's rhythm accelerated, and her breath left her. The intensity of these feelings were juxtaposed with how gently Jay had touched her. He released the grip, but she hadn't straightened up or tried to pull away the entire time he had lightly gripped her.
