Saturday
21:30 – 23:00
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I decided to pay her a visit today.
The air is cold, the streets are rustling with the fall, the summer had all but waned - as had my patience. All the planning that had gone into this here next action of mine, I never once considered returning to it. It is not as though my preparations were for naught but in hindsight it all felt a little silly. Writing down my next action; learning her patterns, watching when she got out of the house to play in the woods; when she went to walk to school; when she would sit in the alcove overlooking the Ostorfer lake, reading another book I put in the mailbox. I do wonder if she ever figured out that it wasn’t her mother who sent them – I will ask her if I remember.
I feel the branches of the leafless trees naked, as am I, scrape against my sides and across my torso as I step through the woods. Approaching the old brick house from the backside, stopping for a moment just before the cloak of the woodwork fades into the lawn where the lights of civilization split the dark of the night. The house looks peaceful, there is not a breeze to distract my thoughts as I draw in through my nostrils and look across the façade. Up to the second window from the right in the top floor. I know she is there, I can smell her scent, not just emanating from the window but from everywhere in the large garden. The swings, the lawn chairs, the grass; it feels like a calling, many small voices that sing at me to take her, a ubiquitous, crescendoing cacophony that beckons me to silence it and –
Hot blood drips from my hand. My lids close halfway as my pupils dilate.
I sink into a squat with a muffled whine and feel it seep past my flews, dripping unto my loins.
“This must end today.” I tell myself as I open my muzzle to release my right hand from it.
The burning sensation of my fangs pulling out of my own flesh pale in comparison to the blood boiling in my loins. As I stand straight, I can feel the weight of my endowment force the baculum into submission, letting it tilt as I grow erect, pointing forward like a lance, as if to urge me to rush forward into the slaughter. And how much I want to oblige it. I know I shouldn’t.
I draw a deep breath, and raise my hand to push aside the branches and get a better view at the house – and then I see it. She is there, just a faint figure in the dark of her room. Sitting up in her bed to nip on what appears to be a glass of water. I sink back, my pupils diluted and my back ached; I can feel the coat of my neck bristle and stand up, my muscles tensing as they force my posture into the unmistakable hunch of the predator. And for just a moment, I lose my grasp. I want to be free. Leap out of cover and sprint at the window on all fours and jump to climb the wooden supports of the grapevines that have taken over the back of the house and force my fist through her window.
Would you have forgiven me if I did, old friend? We have been together for so long now, me down here and you up there in the high castle of my cranium, dictating my every move and aiding me in my tasks. Would it have bothered you if I cut lose just this once? Even if it meant being carless and rushed. Not like myself?
As quickly as the moment came, it is gone again. She has disappeared once more, laid down to continue her slumber. The pain from my hand is now starting to become very much apparent and I raise it to inspect the damage. Bright red blood glistens on my coat, looking near black in the light of the moon. It should be yours. Can you see what you did to me, little slut? All of this for you. You do not deserve me.
My conscious rushing back in to take the lead and I decide to circle around the house and move out into the street, careful in my every step as to not alert what I now can confirm is the singular occupant. The parking lot is vacant of the red Camero; her parents are out for the night once more. A realization that fills me with ease. My shoulders relax and the tension in my muscles fades with every step I take towards the short path of tiles leading to the front entrance. I feel much better about this arrangement. Entering from the back on the first date? Not a gentleman’s move.
The small roof a top the front entrance casts me in shade once more. The moonlight is polite enough to stay outside. I will not share its restraint tonight. I ponder for a moment, trailing the digit of my index finger around the door handle, tracing the ornate curve before pushing is downwards, only to hear the bolt slide back with a click. I had not expected it to be unlocked, yet I still felt that jolt of anticipation in my loins as I do. Slowly and steadily, I let the handle move back in its former position as I push the door open, listening for any noises the door might think of to sabotage my little adventure but it decides to stay quiet. And just as quietly, I close it once again. The foyer is silent, safe for the metronome of an old grandfather’s clock making its rounds on the wall across from the staircase.
There is a certain kind of feel to being in a stranger’s home at night. The peace and quiet one feels when walking the hallways in their own dwelling are replaced with silent drone, way outside the range of conventional frequencies. But it is there, dull and dampening, drowning out everything else, like a blanket, making time seemingly stand still. I look up the stairs and the presence of carpet drives the corners of my muzzle into a little smile; carpet makes it much easier.
Nevertheless, I squat down to get a closer look of the wood; it is light in colour, it smells of oak and seal. The coating glistens in the moonlight coming from the window, telling me the staircase was re-done not too many years ago. I stand back up again, listening to the floorboards as my weight shifts, but they make no sound, leaving me satisfied. The first step emits no noise either, nor does the third and I feel my muscles start to relax by the time I reach the upper floor. I turn my head to the left and close my eyes for just a moment. The smell is much different here; stale, hot air from the fireplace has collected, keeping the scents dense in the air. Deodorant and air fresheners fill my nostrils, the scent of cheap, artificial citrus and lavender make my claws twitch. How I loathe the taste of the common folk…
There!
My ears perk and rip me from my inner monologue as they catch a soft groaning from the second door on the left, followed by the ruffling of bedsheets being pulled. My eyes widen and I feel my saliva glands growing active in ways I seldom feel. The heavy endowment between my legs twitches harshly, the feeling of my balls churning, rubbing against my inner thighs only serves to drive my instincts high. She is there, behind the second door from the left. A door leaning slightly ajar, white light pouring out of the gap into the hallway, beckoning me to make my visit. I push the door with my left hand, claws scraping across the painted wood and I am greeted with a waft of warm air, carrying her scent.
With flaring nostrils, I look down at the bed and I can feel my body twitch and shiver. There she lies, covered in the wrinkled white bedsheets. The little slut, sleeping on her side, unaware of her actions and –
Wet dripping.
I close my eyes in resignation before looking down at my endowment to watch pre drool from my tip in copious amounts, running down the underbelly of my tool before the thick mounds of protein become too heavy and hit the floor. A cruel sense of irony grips my chest as I watch the young dog shuffle in her sheets and rise up from her slumber, her ears perked and her nose twitching before she quickly reaches towards her nightstand to grab the pair of glasses, fumbling them onto her face.
Then her eyes open and she catches my gaze and for just a moment, we both are frozen in place.
No noises. Not movements. I stand hunched over, my claws raised and my head lowered. No longer caring about any royalty of statue or posture.
She remains leaned to her side, in the midst of pulling the cord dangling from the small bulbous lamp on the nightstand.
A second to become a minute. My fangs are bare, her eyes widen. Fear grips her every fiber. Her fur begins to bristle, her shoulders rise and her head ducks in as she clutches the sheets and whimpers. Just a tiny bit, nothing more. No screaming, no attempts to get away, just a whimper.
Why won’t it scream? Can you not even give me the courtesy of pushing me over the edge? No, you are useless. Useless! I will not have you ruin my special night.
I draw down, playing my hands onto the floor, the burning on my right hand is barely felt. Adrenaline rushes into my veins as I lunge forward, one step, two steps, I clear the distance between us, my hand reaching out to make the first impact and finally, finally, the slut beings to scream!
I feel her soft fur in my grasp, her wiggling and thrashing as she desperately tries to escape my grasp as well as the sheets, her legs kicking. She screams, begs, asks who I am but I barely register as I drag her across the bed and grasp the collar she is wearing. My fingers slip underneath the red leather before I draw my arm backwards and rush my fist into her face.
Words fail to describe how sweet it feels. My knuckles hitting her cheek, her eye, the side of her snout. I beat her again, my fist swinging in quick succession and without holding back. The mattress provides some alleviation but I can hear her sudden cries and little grunts become softer and less pronounces as I continue. My loins are burning and my cock is twitching, I can not take this much longer. The slut has to be mine.
My hands being to pull on the shirt she is wearing, short sleeves and green in colour, matted with sweat in the pits and the chest from the cold fear that is wrecking her physique. And as expected, her resistance is now in full affect. The slut has realized what will happen and she is throwing everything she can at me to stop it. But the differences are too vast. She weighs but a third of me, my hand easily restrains her biting and growling muzzle. I feel tears stream down her face and the acidity burns the open wounds on my right hand. But the fire is sweet, her scent of fear makes more than up for it.
As I tear her shirt open, I rake my claws through the fabric and a sudden loud yelp escapes her muzzle. She thrashes with untold strength, her hands rushing up to claw at my forearm and clutch her right breast, whining and whimpering in the most arousing manner I heard a lowly creature such as her make use of in a long time. Had she been more still, I would have gladly loosened my grip on her neck to hear her singing unfiltered.
I peel off her shirt completely, my claws tearing through the sleeves, ripping and pulling it off of her, allowing my impatience to take full advantage of me. Not a single part of her will be hidden tonight!
My hands clutch around her neck, my claws dig into her skin, I hear her choke and wheeze, her hands shaking and clawing at my arm, her legs kick so much but the miss their every strike.
So overwhelmed, the little slut, not ready, not yet. I lean forward and pulls her left leg and hear the guttural mix of crying and growling. She knows what is about to come and cannot stop it. Her body tenses but she ceases to fight, accepting her fate. Oh, how I adore this feeling. You are hopeless, helpless. Scream for me some more!
And as I enter her body, I feel the immediate reaction; clenching. Hard and tight, her body, with its every fiber trying to keep my out. But this is no time to close the doors. The siege is in full detail and I am the Rammbock. Bit by bit I push inside of her and with every single bit, she gets louder. She cannot fathom just how large I am. Just how unfit she is as a vessel to take me on. And her screams of pain become muddles with those of disbelieve as the stretching continues and continues, my pre squirting out the sides, useless to provide any sort of lubrication to ease the violation of her insides.
And as effortlessly as I have inserted myself, my head penetrates the second door deep inside her. I was prepared for what was to come.
She was not.
The noises that escape her throat are beastial. Her body aches up, her spine contorts and bends, her eyes widen and threaten to push past their sockets. I let my jaw hang agape, copious amounts of drool, enough to soil her face, are dripping down just past her, running through the creases on the mattress and getting caught in her hair. I grip her neck all the more firmly and raise my fist to wail it down on her face once more. Over and over, I bring it down on her eye, her cheek and by the time I feel the sharp pain of my knuckle being cut by breaking one of her teeth, my climax is all but imminent.
How difficult it becomes to pack so many emotions into a language as insufficient as English. She looks so pretty now, her body is twitching, I feel her inner canal desperately trying to contract, but it is hopelessly overburdened. The sluts’ irritated cervix feels like the exit of a fleshlight leading into a warm, wide space, which is quickly thickened up as I push my hips forward a final time. My knot firmly sits in between her legs and my balls clench, pouring liters of sperm into her waiting womb.
The sluts’ screams have once again died down into a gurgle, her stomach bloats with the warm weight of my seed and I can simply not describe the moment of absolute bliss she is granting me. Perhaps you aren’t a complete failure after all…
Moment pass. A minute. Or two. Who can tell when in the heat of the climax? But by the time it is wearing off, her stomach is hopelessly overstretched. The size of a beachball now adorning her midframe, grotesquely stretching her thin coat of fur and leaving me with a whimpering, crying pile of canid misery. As I pull out of her, she twitches once more, a low coughing escaping her lips. It is barely conscious at this point, her hands gripping thin air, it rolls to her side and reaches about with her arms, trying to pull itself away from me, at the pace of a snail.
I ponder for a moment, looking down at my dick and hefting it up. It lays heavy in my grasp, throbbing and hard as a rock still, coated in semen and streaks of bright, fresh blood. I breathe in deeply, then reach out and grasp her legs, pulling her from the bed on the floor. Her body hits the floorboards, she flops over like a dead fish, moving just the smallest amount. Looking down at her, I feel nothing but hatred and disgust. A bloated, twitching condom, leaking and bleeding at my feet…
I raise my right heel and bring it down on the side of her stomach. Now she moves again! Her body jerks and her muzzle opens to expel a long-drawn, feral howl, just before I kick in her bloated gut. She turns on her side, trying to shield her gut and her back with her arms but she is sluggish and slow. My foot crunches down on her until I can hear the unmistakable sound of cracking ribs.
I lost count on how many stomps and kicks I delivered. But my energy runs low, the adrenaline cannot keep me up any longer and with an exhausted huff, I stumble backwards, my arms spread, against her closet. I sink down unto the floor, my back scraping the wood before I hit ground. With my head leaning against it, I turn to the side, watching the broken slut on the floor next to me. She has stopped to twitch. Just a soft, erratic breath emanating from her nose, her chest heaving up and down in uneven patterns. How broken are you yet, I wonder? Will you make it?
I slowly get myself up again. Standing over the dog, I inspect my hand, gritting my teeth as I pull small shard of glass from my right hand. So irrational. You should really pay more attention, old animal. You even saw her put on those glasses. But it isn’t over yet.
Squatting down, I once again loom over the slut, pulling her face with both my hands into a forward-facing position. Her eyes are swollen and discolored but she is looking at me. My thumbs stroke across her cheeks and I smile at her confused, disturbed look.
“You fell down the stairs.”
I give the slut just a moment to compose herself and register my words.
“You fell down the stairs and hit the floor really, really hard. After that you were dazed and made a mess of your room. Oh, all the blood, you were just mortified.”
I can feel her starting to shake in my grasp. Tears are flowing down her face through her swollen eyes and I hear the faintest hints of a cry through her bruised throat.
“Shh shh shh… it is what your father would prefer as well. Leaving the front door unlocked with a lone female in the house while these harrowing stories circle the news? Oh, it would not do his career any good.”
My thumb pushes up the tears, feeling them flow across as I nod softly, pushing down to plant a soft kiss on her forehead.
“I understand. You wouldn’t want to put him in that position, would you? And your mother… so fragile after she discovered his affair. She couldn’t survive the story of her daughter having been violated, could she?”
I let her head slip through my hands and exhale hot air through my nostrils, looking up at the window, my eyes lingering on the moon for a moment. “And worry not, pup.” I muse, a broad smile forming on my lips.
“We’ll see each other again very soon.”
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The Artwork for this image was provided by a deer friend of mine