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I am glad that her sense of comfort has utterly eroded, but I no longer feel the pressing urge to protect her. I want to devour her entirely, to consume her and feel her in my maw.
“You will learn your place, my pet,” I growl.
The words leave my mouth, but I can’t claim ownership over them. They arrive from a deeper, more primal part of me.
I drop her onto the pile of pelts and animal furs which I, for four days, have considered my nest, dried blood tidily decorating its surface. I cannot savor the fur and hairs of the creatures I devour, but I try to find a use for every part.
I slam down onto the cavern floor beside her, the growls and stomps of monsters around us becoming louder and more insistent here. It brings me comfort and eases me to sleep, knowing that there still exist creatures who would dare to challenge my supremacy.
As I approach her, moving at a crawl, I can feel her pull away from me, not ready to be swallowed by me. I feel an exhilarating rush. That part of me that so long ago denied me what I needed – this human meat – has at last been silenced.
I tear into her neck but stop short of seriously harming her, driving into her flesh with my large, twisted fangs, savoring the flow of her red juices into my mouth.
But I still cannot bring myself to move deeper, effectively killing her. I want so strongly to devour her, but there’s something else working on me. Another drive entirely.
She wriggles in my grasp, desperate to be free, to live. And I don’t want to deny her that wish, as much as I long to be free of this constraint. This ever-present biological urge.
I heave a deep sigh, unable to do anything but concede to the natural forces that motivate me. I do not understand what is so special about this girl, but watching her and witnessing her cold, shivering, and helpless form has awakened something in me.
Her bare nipples protrude through her cloth dress, beckoning me, and I want to twist them. I want to make her really suffer and watch as she melts in my claws. Grabbing them dexterously and manipulating them in the tight, sharp enclosure between two of my claws, she moans in pain. However, I can sense a different flow of chemicals emitting from her brain, more delicious than anything I’ve ever tasted or experienced in my life.
Her nipples harden to my touch, her breasts expanding as her chest heaves. Her skin reddens and her cheeks flush under the dense flow of water from the cavern ceiling.
She relishes in the pain, perhaps a method of coping with years of persistent torment, so I lower my neck and move my fangs to her firm nipples, skating them across those sensitive buds with painful restraint. They feel softer than the rest of her flesh and emanate a scent that entices me to gnaw deeper.
She moans, bucking into me. Her breasts have grown so pink from torment, I can see the veins within them bulging, desperate for my attention.
“If you will not sleep,” I tell her as she groans insistently. “Then I will make you sleep.”
I let the words hang in the air, ambiguous. Her glance upon me is fearful but unwavering.
I lower my claws, then sever the cloth around her form, tearing into it with urgency. She no longer needs to be concealed from my sight. I long to look upon her in this form, bared to me and ripe for plucking.
I retract my claws, leaving only the rough pads of my digits to prod at her core, feeling the delicious, collected juices that flow freely. Intuitively, I manipulate the bulb above her entrance, so succulent and demanding, so many chemicals coursing outward from it, blood running downward toward it.
Her moans grow louder and ever more urgent as I rub her bulb, then gently squeeze it, my tongue moving back up to her throbbing neck. She rubs into me in return, urging me forward, urging me deeper.
Taking my finger, I move upward, prodding her entrance with my great black digits. She feels warm to the touch, and as I dive into her with my fingers, a dam that has welled up breaks, her body convulsing around the two fingers buried inside her.
Her expression shifts from fear to madness, consumed by a primal sentiment I am only now coming to understand. A face that I’ve only seen marked by fear blanks, her eyes rolling backward into her skull, mouth hanging open.
In response, I drive my fingers deeper into her. I move faster, my maw moving toward hers.
The screams from her will drive the monsters from the darkness of the cavern, motivating them to take what is mine and mine alone.
I cover her maw with mine to stifle her, her tongue dancing around my fangs, then gently nibble at her tongue, my own barbed tongue swirling around her.
My fingers spiral and swirl inside of her, feeling the intoxicating release of delicious chemicals and juices. I long to capture these tastes, to imprison them and guard them forever.
She builds to a deeper release, nearly convulsing on the ground beside me. I clamp my arms around her hard, bringing her closer into my chest and nestling her there.
I feel unfulfilled as I look at her, lying there. The urge to dominate her completely is deafening to me, though the urge to devour her has been sated.
I long to keep her safe and guard her close, so that I will always be able to recapture this intoxicating release.
But I don’t know if I like the creature I’m changing into, weakened by my attachment to her. I never want her to stop fearing me.
Chapter 11
