Little Goat Mountain transient

The entire sense of time has started to fade. Most days are cold and stuffy in the cave, when she can remember. She’s tried more than once not eating what is brought to her and is reminded of the pain the monsters can cause and if it didn’t hurt so bad, she might let him torture her until it kills her, but his sadistic nature reminds her that death is a long, painful way off.

She’s started to consider time between when he brings her food; for a lone wolf it helps put and keep weight on her. Without moving very much, or exercising beyond being used against her will but it hasn’t seemed so bad the last few days (not that she’s aware of the time) and she doesn’t mind when the monster comes around, feeling a little more dependent on touch than she has before. When she’s alone with her few and far between lucid thoughts, she thinks he’s brainwashed her, depending on everything he does but life holds so little meaning these days, but he has been a little more eager to get what he needs.
 
As she stirs awake, she feels a burning in her chest that seers all the way through the rest of her body, centering it’s strength between her legs. Ocra closes her eyes and groans, somewhere in the back of her mind she’s vaguely registering what’s going on though she has little to question it. The cave is heavy and thick with her scent, half-worried she’ll attract the attention of anyone else as unsavory as her captors. As the heat burns, more than from constant abuse alone, she slowly tries to pick herself up but all her energy has been zapped from being constantly sedated and infection in her wounds. Aware all attempts may be futile, she feels the fire in her to try and get away, hoping to escape the inevitable.

The devil did not know her time would come as soon as it had. He was shocked when he returned from hunting to find that her scent had filled the cave; he could have scented her from down the mountain, if he came from the right direction. There was a hare clasped between his teeth, and he hurried himself upward to where they had hidden their cave. The length of his limbs allowed him to move over space that would have easily caused others to stumble or even plummet to their death. It had been precarious to lead the girl upward, but he was pleased with having accomplished it. She was well trapped by land and air. One missed step and she would have dropped to a steep death. Ithrik planned to lead her down once he’d finished with her. The devil knew that they could not remain in one place for very long.
 
Reaching the mouth of the cave, he dropped his kill in the corner and rasped a greeting, should Iliksis have been there. Her scent filled his nostrils and the piebald fiend moved toward her with a hungry expression on his dark face. The tangerine of his gaze danced along her shape, and then the shriveled holes where her eyes had been. Ithrik was starting to understand that he would not want to be her babysitter for very much longer. It was time to make his move and then leave her. With a few short sniffs, he approached her and pressed his nose into the fur at the base of her tail.

It takes a long moment but she’s up on all fours. Her skin pulls where scabs have pieced together her wounds but she scarcely has time to think about it. It’s been a while since she’s attempted an escaped that she doesn’t even know where to begin. Weak legs tremble beneath her, threatening collapse. Stretching and adjusting her posture stirs the cloudy haze from her mind enough to hear the rustle in the distance. Her ears slick back and she freezes, breaths becoming shallow. Not only has her season come but she is not where she’s meant to be.
 
But it doesn’t seem to matter. He does not greet her with teeth; he is on her quickly, pushing against her rear with his nose. There is no fight left in her and she shifts and moves her tail, allowing him access to whatever he wanted—fighting him in this moment will only make things worse—and she resigns to her fate.

The girl learned, and she quickly complies with his wishes. Her tail was swept aside and Ithrik stared at her longingly until he could no longer hold himself from it. Rearing back on his hind limbs, the devil gripped her tightly with his forelegs and moved to grip her nape in his fangs. While not surprised, Ithrik is pleased that she had found a way to understand what he desired. His gnarled yellow teeth sought the flesh along her back, seeking to latch to the scruff of her, wanting that ground with which to hold her to his form. A guttural growl stirred from within his throat, echoing through the cave and falling back on them. Along his flesh, goosebumps formed, and the vile hound felt a need rise within him. Another growl and the devil snapped his teeth sharply on the nearest piece of her skin, running his tongue along her pelt hair in his mouth.

Tension builds the longer he waits, turning her head slightly as if she were to look at him, but he moves and is upon her the next moment. Ocra grunts with the added weight on tired legs, whining when he takes her by the scruff. Submitting does not always get her away pain free but the added aroma her body puts off probably drives something stronger—darker—than he’s put her through. A vice grip holds her hips, scratching against the mix of old and new wounds ground into her skin by his claws, wincing each time he squeezes. His teeth snap against the flesh over her shoulder and she yelps loudly, arching back against the assault.

The girl arches her back and he sinks himself into her with a low and rumbling growl. His eyes darted up toward the ceiling of their cave and into the back of his head. The fire in the pit of his stomach was urging him forward, and he tore at her with nothing holding him back. Still, he wanted to feel her squirm beneath his hold, and as he worked his way with her, Ithrik demanded that she illicit something of a response. Releasing his grip on her shoulder, he parted his lips and drew his tongue along the back of her neck. Thick swaths of drool stuck to her pelt as he did so. He slid his tongue to her other shoulder before yanking her closer with his arms.

He enters her and she groans, tensing against the assault. His teeth grind into her shoulder and she clenches her jaw, making a low guttural sound against the pain. Maybe this will be the time he kills her but something doesn’t sit well in her stomach. With her season—and his mating—there is more for him to torture her with. Her mind flashes briefly to the Other wolf but it doesn’t linger. Eventually he lets go of her shoulder, relief coursing through despite the pain on all other aspects of her body. Wet tongue grazes the back of her neck and she can feel the heavy weight of drool against her fur. Blood and saliva cakes her fur from weeks of abuse and now, despite her want for an end, will likely continue for weeks to come.

It did not take long for him to finish. Once had had, the slick creature pulled himself from her back and breathed heavily against the exertion of his body. With her heat, he knew that his actions would lead to her delivering young. The thought of fresh whelps had torn through his mind like a searing flame, and he did not regret the actions he had taken to obtain them. The mother would likely protest to the thought – or so he imagined – of giving birth to his kind, but he did not care much for her opinions on the matter. She was playing her part; she was being useful. As long as the red girl stood relatively well, he would use her and leave her when she was close to death. Before any of that, he wanted to devour the children that she would birth; he wanted her to know that her survival was temporary – that at any moment, he could change his mind and grip her throat between his fangs until she stopped struggling. That time had not yet come, so he continued to use her as he pleased and kept her alive enough to stand so that he did not have to strain himself when he climbed upon her. It was an ideal contract for the devil.

It is over quickly, as they most are (depending on how much strife he wishes to cause) and he eventually slinks back and from her when he can free himself. The wound on her shoulder adds to the toll on her and the ache between her legs is no better. Unable to fight the assault, and likely several more to come from today alone (not to mention the next several days), she’s certain of the result. She didn’t know where she was going to go a few minutes ago, as long as it was away from him and his ability to plant children inside her, but she’s been—to no surprise—unsuccessful. The thought of carrying His children causes her stomach to turn and she squeezes her scarred eyelids together.

Her legs tremble once she’s free and she stumbles forward a step and collapses to the ground. A fog in her mind takes over and she longs for the poppy he’d bring in food—if anything, it reduced some of the pain—but she stays on the cave floor with an occasional twitch and soft, pitiful whine.

Ithrik had spent himself on her, but that did not mean that his mind was not wired and prepared for more. The cogs within his brain turned carefully as he calculated her weak form on the floor of the cave. The girl was noisy when he finished with her. He didn’t like it. The devil circled around her once with a cold frown and a watchful eye. The scent of her heat still filled the cave, and he moved toward it with a hungry growl in the back of his throat. There was no regard for her personal space; Ithrik pressed his nose to her back end roughly and inhaled before pulling back and waiting for her to react. Surely, she desired more from him, but it would take him a short while longer before he could fuck her again. As long as she knew he would not let her rest that day, that was all he wished to convey. With rasping breaths and a swift flash of his tongue across his muzzle, Ithrik approached her again and clutched at her warmth with his teeth. He bit down against her and shuddered.

At times, she does not realize she is even making a sound. The pain that fills her body never ends and involuntary sounds tend to happen. In the beginning, she learned to get it under control but she can’t help the pitiful sounds that slip passed her lips. 

She hears movement around her, one ear trying to follow him, but he ends up behind her again and she suspects he only wants one thing. Repeats of his crime are not uncommon, though she thinks of the first few days she’d been under his control that he’d fucked her until she couldn’t stand anymore, then fucked her more when she’d given up, sprawled out in the floor. 

Ocra makes a weak attempt to try and stand to avoid any further damage, using her front legs to give her a shove but they only slip on the slick floor and leave her a crumbled mess on the floor. She’s met with his nose between her legs, the fire of her heat still there and maybe if she wasn’t so work thin, she might have felt the itch had been scratched. But exhaustion and pain takes her and she tucks her tail between her legs to block him without even realizing it. As he withdraws, perhaps she may have thought it a small victory, teeth clamp down on the sensitive flesh between her legs. Immediately, Ocra cries out as his teeth latch on, rocketing her forward despite the shredding of her skin.

The girl did not want him, and she instinctually tucked her tail close to her rear to signal this. Ithrik grew impatient with her and growled coldly. The burning in his gut was rising again, and he would need to release himself before too much longer. With a demanding snap of his teeth, the devil warned her to allow him close to her. “The pups you have will be much easier to fuck,” he snarled at her, already having grown tired of her body and the way her empty sockets stared at him. The vile hound wanted to be free of the vacant stare that met him, but he imagined that he could fuck it out of her.
 
“My whole cock will fit inside them. Then I won’t need you anymore,” the piebald male hissed to her, followed by a wet slurping sound as his tongue lolled from the side of his mouth. He moved to wrap his forearms around her again and pull her closer to him.

He bites against her hip when she jolts forward, anchoring her to the ground in the next instant. The threat makes her flinch and she attempts to curl into herself. When he threatens the children he is forcing her to carry, she feels a twist of her stomach, threatening to spill what may be there. Can she care for the hypothetical demon children he’s seeded into her? They are part of him left inside her, forcing her to carry and deal with and the thought alone makes her churn, releasing a slow breath. But they are still innocent, somewhere in the back of her mind reminds her, but she blocks it out. Accepting them means taking responsibility for this and all of her anguish is reserved for him.
 
As he falls silent, stepping over her crumbled form, she feels the heat he gives off and the drool dripping over her. He hooks his legs around her hips and she squirms, feeling the moisture of blood pooling against the torn flesh between her legs and smearing against her backside. But he does not care, pulling against her waist to meet him, reminding her of his control. Afraid of the pain he is about to impart on her, she struggles as much as her energy will allow—something she hasn’t done in so long against him—but her body drives her into self-preservation as her heat wracks her body. Her tail firmly clamps between her legs instead of sweeping to one side as she had earlier, but she’s certain she can’t handle the assault against her lacerated vulva.

The devil did not care if she believed she could withstand the assault against her torn body. Ithrik wanted to sink himself into her and spill her over with cum. His arms were strong and capable, but she had found a more reasonable place of comfort on the cave floor, and her weight offered her an advantage against his attempt at restraint. The piebald man bucked his hips threateningly but met only air and he grew frustrated with the lack of a presence. His hips longed to be pressed to hers and to feel the spill of her blood against his loins. All he wanted was to breach that gap and close the space between them, but she was struggling against him and she was succeeding with her efforts. This was something that rattled both his pride and his mood; Ithrik growled sharply.
 
“You quit that bitching and moaning, or I’ll come around and fuck every hole you’ve got in your face, you useless little twat,” he warned her, and it was a warning that would stand only once. If she did not allow him to mount her, Ithrik would not hesitate to move his position to one of more ease. He did not mind where he was to stick himself, only that it was in her body.

He bucks against her, but the tension in her form keeps her on the ground. He pulls and tears at new and old wounds during the process and she cries by result, unable to form much sound against the jostling. But eventually, she feels his anger in his movements and she tries to ease some of the tension. 

Ocra is not fast enough when he halts, threatening her if she doesn’t comply. A shudder wracks her body at the thought of his words, carefully shifting her weight so he may have access, once again, to what he’s claimed is his.

So, it was that she complied with him, and Ithrik reveled in defiling her body again and again until she could not stand to hold his frame. He played with her until he thought it might drive her mad. No matter how resilient she was, he was quick to quell the attempts each and every time. The fire in his gaze did not leave, not even when he could no longer break her. Instead, he lay sprawled across the cave floor with his eyes glued to her shattered figure and a twisted grin adorning his dark muzzle. The days after were a series of the same sad images. Ithrik relished in each thrust he invaded her with. Even the sound of her whimper and whine was enough to swell his ego. All of it was worth every square inch of his sanity that it occupied. He had very little left, after all.