He wept the first night. Sometimes beating him fiercely on buttocks and back, she made him run. He returned to the barn exhausted. His endurance and stamina increased. She knows he is worth keeping. His adoration adds sweetness to her days. Servile, he rarely burdens her with a need to supervise.
Both yearn to revisit the farm. Living openly as Owner and owned. He wants to feel her lash driving him on. She to watch his every muscle straining to please her. Black-haired Danielle thought back to the day she met Ernest. He seemed so strong and handsome. Not aware of her true orientation, her atypical needs, she was swiftly seduced. Something necessary seemed omitted.
She did not know what. Ernest sensed her feelings. He would drink too much, spending the evening shouting curses at her. There she met Paige. Paige was strong, smart and gorgeous. Again, she was seduced. Paige — another woman — was what her life lacked. She went home for some clothes. Punched his wife in the eye. Danielle finally admitted she needed to divorce Ernest. The next day Paige presented Danielle with divorce papers signed by Ernest. She never explained how she persuaded him blackmail. The divorce did not satisfy her need to punish him for hitting Danielle.
A month later, an aunt died. Paige was her heir. Plenty of money and a farm. Her aunt never farmed. The women moved to the estate. Paige quit her job. Danielle freelanced over the web. She kept working to maintain self-esteem. The barn contained a carriage but no horses to pull it. Danielle went to New York for a meeting with a client. Paige promised to find a gardener and an animal to pull the carriage. Danielle returned four days later. Danielle wanted to change clothes. She would meet Paige at the barn door. Discovering Ernest bound to the front of the carriage was a stupendous surprise.
Her mind went numb. Paige had to help her up to the carriage seat. A flick of the horsewhip started the carriage forward. I fixed him myself.
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And prepared him a stall in the barn. Speechless, Danielle could only hug Paige tightly. That night she made sure her girlfriend had the best and most orgasms ever. The next day Danielle went to examine her ex-husband more closely. He avoided her eyes. Angry, she kicked him so hard, he fell.
Urine hid his tears. That was the last time she treated him as anything other than a horse. Whenever she giggles, he assumes he is the cause of her mirth. Tight ropes cut into his body. He had knelt for hours. Involuntary Immobility was pure physical torturer. His muscles and joints ached. Would snap his neck? Often violent, men quickly learned to fear her. She did not purposely kill men. A company removed unmourned corpses. Incinerated remains joined fast food wrappers and cigarette butts. Thrusting her right boot, she shoved him down.
Sat on his already strained arms. The long trip to nowhere continued. Much later, body wrenched, mind awash in anguish, his brain shut down. A servant took him to the barn. Forced food down his throat and cleaned his wounds. If it had value, she might have sold it. Isolated, lonely, it is a perfect place for the enjoyment of the Femdomosophic lifestyle.
Servitude in the blistering sun is agony for a man who has always lived in gentle San Francisco. Labor in sweltering heat gives him an excellent tan. His Mistress Owner likes his golden skin. Even more she enjoys watching him sweat and strain. Forcing him to run. Sitting under a large umbrella, Mistress Evelyn watches as he runs laps around the house. He competes against his earlier runs. She punishes him on slow days. She can whip her slave man whenever she wishes. Projecting anger, cursing him, makes his suffering more pleasurable.
No other part of his slavery is such concentrated misery. The ponyboy slave runs. She whips the sides of his thighs and buttocks. Cutting fresh wounds over old scars. The beast carries his owner home. Slave walks behind her. Once he thought about leaving Mistress Evelyn. Like all such men, he worships her.
The greater her cruelty, the deeper his adoration. Once he was a work slave. Mistress Angie owns an isolated farm. He kept house, tended the grounds. The slave awoke before dawn; did not retire until his Mistress Owner went to bed. She had a quick temper. He worked hard and competently, needing little punishment. No one ever visited them at the farm. One day a Domme arrived. Accompanied by his Mistress, the woman examined him. Would Mistress Angie sell him?
The strange Domme was not a slaver.
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He would compete against other slave men. She beat him brutally. Bad form earned lashes. As did missing the goals she set for his progress. Mistress Angie said that as her human horse, he would have a pet name. For a delusory moment, he thought she might be softening. She bought acres of useless land next to her farm. Daily she forces him run the four boundaries. Though they go nowhere, she makes him rush. Mistress Angie admonishes her human horse to run ever faster. The whip is not adequate. He never runs fast enough. A Wi-Fi genital shock collar stimulates him to his best efforts.
Electroshock cannot overcome the limits of his muscles. She leaves him there lying in the dirt. Later he hobbles back to the farmhouse. He kneels at the backdoor. Mistress Angie forbade him to do anything other than wait. He might remain on his knees until nightfall. He no longer sleeps at the foot of her bed. Now a slave animal, she locks him in a filthy stall in the old barn. Before sleep, she visits the stall.
For the rest of the night, he stinks of her urine. You are an ugly weakling, useless unless whipped. When the deer was completely dry, Pyrrha let go, panting loudly as she backed away on all fours, still relishing the new feelings flowing through her body. She felt stronger than she ever had before. She could fly through the air! She could run faster than Ruby! Retching, she stumbled away from the corpse, putting a hand to her mouth. What did I just do?! Trying to regain some control of her heartbeat, Pyrrha turned to the Grimm.
What in the world was happening to her?! Can't hear other Mistress, so you are Mistress now. The vision of the skull-faced woman named Salem returned unbidden to Pyrrha's mind. She thought back to what had happened on the tower. The creeping female voice had been similar to that of this Nevermore. What did they do to me?! Taking a shuddering breath, Pyrrha looked the Nevermore in the eye. The Nevermore hopped over, black feathers ruffling. It seemed almost delighted.
Pyrrha wasn't sure what she had been expecting when she looked at her reflection a few minutes later. Maybe she had hoped that the dream would end before she reached that point. Maybe she hoped that she would see herself, but no Nevermore, proving that she was delirious. What she didn't expect was a pale, skull-like imitation of her face staring back at her. Her green eyes had a sickly, yellowish tinge to them.
Black, vein-like stripes decorated her white skin and wove down her bare arms like spiderwebs. Worst of all, when her mouth dropped open in horror, the first thing she saw was a set of sharp, blood-coated fangs. Was made from Great Dragon Mother. Was made to be slave, but became Mistress. Servant can sense other Mistress in you, but you are own Mistress. Stopped hearing other Mistress when saw you. Pyrrha nodded slowly, trying to wrap her head around what was happening. If she understood correctly, Cinder had done something to her that night. Somehow, Pyrrha had been connected to the Grimm dragon and that skull woman.
That had somehow merged her with the dragon, turning her into…whatever she was now. I'm a creature who looks like a monster, drinks blood, and speaks to Grimm, she thought despairingly. I've become one of the things I'm supposed to be fighting. A fresh stab of thirst struck the center of her chest, and her eyes flashed. All other thoughts left her mind, just as they had when she had seen the deer. Hunt, she thought, her face becoming cold. First, I need to hunt.
She turned to the Nevermore, which perked up attentively under her gaze. In a dead voice, she spoke to it. Still, Pyrrha did not starve. The Boarbatusks taught her how to root in the dirt for smaller creatures. The Beowolves showed her the best spots to dig and find hibernating animals. One day, her favorite Nevermore servant returned to her with a prize: Pyrrha had found the puny being's throat immediately. An entirely new sensation filled her. It was like tasting pure water for the first time after a lifetime of sipping mud. The fact that this human had been dead for hours didn't matter.
Even stale, this blood was sweeter than anything else Pyrrha had tasted up to that point. Urged by this new desire, she started to seek humans. The Nevermore brought her a few more, but they were already dead by the time they reached her. She needed new blood. She needed live blood. The forest was too deep, though. There were no live humans to be found. Pyrrha smelled them long before she heard or saw them. They were traveling down a desolate trail that was little more than a deer path.
A catlike smile crossed her face as she climbed into one of the trees. If this had been any other hunt, she would have rushed through the forest until she found them. Then, she would have torn them to pieces one by one before they could even scream in terror. That was how it was with the deer, wolves, and mountain lions. However, something was telling her to savor this moment.
There would not be many more humans coming this way, so it made sense to have some fun before making the kill. Besides, playing with them would give their blood more adrenaline when she got to taste it. Her mouth watered at the thought. She peered through the branches as her quarry finally came into view. There were four of them in all. Two were relatively small and one was pretty skinny with a sleepy face. The fourth one, however, immediately attracted her attention.
He was tall and had broad shoulders. He was a bit scrawny, but the sweet aroma that drifted to Pyrrha from him more than made up for that. She inhaled deeply, letting out a sigh. The smell clouded her mind and lingered on her tongue. It was like honey. It was like the smell that lingered minutes after a fruit vendor walked by at a farmer's market. It was pure, sweet rapture. Farmer's market… For a moment, Pyrrha saw a bustling crowd and smelled fresh produce from a time years ago.
Then, a caw from her Nevermore servant called her. He had found her a deer to stave off her hunger while she stalked her new prey.
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She tilted her head, chuckling quietly. That creature was just so dedicated. Pyrrha specifically forbade her Grimm servants from attacking the four humans. These prizes were hers and hers alone! Of course, there were Grimm outside her control that showed interest in hindering her prey.
She was quick to deal with them. Whenever she defeated one, she would see a brief flash of the skull-faced woman, Salem, before her mind was her own yet again. Fun was an interesting word for what her hunts were becoming. They were certainly enlightening, if nothing else. One thing was for certain: Even if the others got away or died, she needed to have the blond young man, and she had to taste him while he was alive.
His blood would be the sweetest of all. There would be nothing to match it, no matter what else she hunted in the future. That was why she let him live for so long. It had nothing to do with the strange images that surfaced whenever she watched her prey. They were odd, intoxicating images of crowded buildings, thrilling battles, and an even more exhilarating moment filled with music and a set of strong, familiar arms. Sometimes, she would remember a softness on her lips, and the images accompanied with that sensation would almost cause her to pause and wonder exactly what she was doing.
Her fascination certainly had nothing to do with how much she loved listening to the boy's soft, gentle voice, relishing the strangely-sad pleasure that she felt whenever it touched her keen ears. As the days went by, she found herself becoming bolder. She ran above their heads in the trees, causing them to look up in alarm. She'd creep close to the camp at night and let the firelight hit her white face for a split second before retreating. Sometimes, one or more of them would draw their weapons and give chase.
She always outran them and circled back around for more. When they slept, she snuck through the camp, hands and bare feet making no noise as they nimbly dodged firewood and backpacks. Sometimes, she'd lean close so that her face was a breath away from one of theirs. When she was feeling particularly playful, she'd move right behind whoever was keeping watch and sit silently behind them, daring them to turn around. One night, when the boy's scent was especially sweet, Pyrrha decided to take her first taste. She wouldn't kill him yet. She was having too much fun.
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But, a quick lick or nibble wouldn't do much harm. She waited for a time when the sleepy one was keeping watch. To her delight, she saw that her prey was sleeping alone at the edge of camp. This was clearly the right night to do this. Her entire body tingled pleasantly as she crawled through the undergrowth.
Her nose twitched as his honeyed scent overwhelmed everything else. She ran a tongue over her fangs. All was silent as she closed the distance between her hiding place and the boy. She leaned over him, looking down at his face. It wasn't relaxed with slumber, but scrunched as if he was having a bad dream of some kind.
She suppressed the low, rumbling purr that tried to rise in her throat. If he only knew what hovered over him in that moment, he would be much more afraid. Pyrrha leaned close, ready to touch her tongue to his neck and imagine the moment when her fangs would be there. Then, the memory of softness on her lips surfaced in her mind. For some reason, her mouth drifted away from his throat and toward his face. Her lips brushed his gently. Her eyes snapped open as her body was flooded with a warm feeling she had almost forgotten.
She remembered a deep sadness, pushing those trusting eyes away for the last time, and turning to meet her fate. In an instant, she was standing in front of Beacon, touching her lips to these very ones, knowing in her heart that this would be the first and last time she would feel them. Gasping, Pyrrha stumbled away from him.
Nausea and horror filled her in equal measures, causing her to nearly run into a tree. She heard a voice, Ren's voice, call out a warning as she ran into the trees. She couldn't jump into the branches.
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She was too disoriented. She just had to get away! A screeching battle-cry filled the night as the Nevermore swooped low over the trees, scattering its sharp feathers at random. Too late, she realized that she should have just kept referring to her friends as prey rather than good. The Nevermore began to circle in the air.
Its confusion echoed in her mind. She felt the Nevermore reluctantly obey. Pyrrha stopped running, clutching at a tree. She blinked rapidly, stunned when she felt hot tears streaking her chilly cheeks. What am I doing? I'm mourning a Grimm of all things! Still, the fact that she was feeling sadness at all was a relief. It meant that she was no longer the strange, murderous, cold creature she had been during those past few weeks.
She took a shuddering breath, pressing her face against the bark as she sobbed. How could she have forgotten so much so easily? She thought about all she had done, how many dead humans she had feasted on. Something cold touched the back of her neck. She heard an achingly-familiar, gentle, sweet voice say in an unwelcome, angry tone: Try anything, and I'll run you through.
Pyrrha gritted her teeth, steeled her soul, and turned around. For the first time in what felt like ages, she looked into the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. Jaune's mouth dropped open and his sword fell from his hand. It was a long time before he, or any of the others could even form words. Pyrrha sat a few feet away from the fire, intentionally keeping some distance between herself and the others. She could barely look at their faces as she finished telling them her story. She knew that they were looking at her with fear and disgust. She was a monster. It was Ren who broke the silence after she finished.
When Pyrrha chanced a glance at his face, she saw that he looked more sympathetic than scared. That look alone almost caused her to weep. His face was alight with an eager smile that made Pyrrha want to embrace him. If we find her and kill her, everything will be okay. And we might be able to make you better. Her silver eyes were still filled with doubt. Whenever they locked directly with Pyrrha's, the older girl was forced to look away. I can feel that I don't have all the abilities Salem has. She closed her eyes again to avoid the nervous expressions that passed over her friends' faces.
Though they insisted that what she had done wasn't her fault, she knew better. The thirst was all it had taken to make her forget. What if she forgot again? What if she attacked them? If I had hurt any of you, I never would have forgiven myself. Jaune stood up and quickly closed the distance between them, sitting down next to her and hugging her tightly. His scent washed over her and she had to clamp her teeth together to keep from showing her fangs. At the same time, the warmth from before filled her, allowing her to feel a sense of peace for a few seconds. Pyrrha shook her head as she returned the hug.
Even though she didn't need sleep, the others still took turns taking watch throughout the night. They didn't completely trust her. Pyrrha didn't completely trust herself, after all. Over the next few days, she struggled with her instincts. When the thirst became unbearable, she'd leave the group to hunt a deer or wolf.
Using her powers, she kept some of the Grimm away. However, attacks grew more frequent as the other Grimm seemed to realize what she was doing. Was she causing Salem to know where they were? Would it be better if she left? If I leave, I'll forget again and become a monster. Besides, I might be their best chance at finding and beating Salem, Cinder, and everyone else. When she killed Grimm, she tried to see more of where Salem was. She tried to hear the other woman's thoughts. Unfortunately, her visions became briefer and briefer with time, as if this "Mistress" was catching on to her intentions.
At night, she would stay close to Jaune, whose scent aroused and punished her in equal measures. Being around him brought her close to feeling totally sane. At the same time, she continued to crave him. Things finally came to a head when, one night when she had gone a few days without drinking, Jaune walked over and hugged her. He pulled her close and touched a comforting kiss to her cheek. Pyrrha felt her fangs against her lip and clenched her fists. Fear and hunger surged through her.
Jaune obeyed, concern and confusion mapping his face. When he saw the way Pyrrha was looking at his neck, however, his eyes took on a fearful look. I didn't mean to. Pyrrha took a few deep breaths and bit down hard on her lip. The taste of her own blood, while not particularly quenching, called her back to herself and gave her something else to focus on.
She ran her tongue over the small wound. Jaune coughed and Pyrrha saw that there was an embarrassed blush on his face. Why on earth would he look like that? He should have been horrified! Pyrrha gaped at him, not sure if she had heard him correctly.