Lion Head Mesa I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving; I'm your little scarlet, starlet

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Mental abuse

A month. A year.

Never.

She felt her heart sink. She didn't know why. She couldn't understand. How could she? She felt her mind pool and her eyes soften, her shell empty itself out and her soul ache. This ache hurt. It was not the good ache that she found herself considering him and coming back to time and time again. He did not need to command her. He did, but she was long looking at her own picture within his eyes, her spirit crushing itself as her throat grinded to dust, only to loosen to feel nothing. She felt nothing. Large, round eyes spoke to him in a million ways, asked in hundreds of letters; why? What for? Never? What was this again? Why did he do this?
Why didn't she like it?

She was supposed to like it.

It was her and him, and him and her. Just the two of them. In the pits of his eyes, like molten gold and screaming sands, she saw herself. She saw something. Her own pelt, her own gaze. She saw a thing, but most importantly to her, she saw him. She saw his mind; it was locked and guarded, but she knew it to be true. She knew it as gospel. She saw it now, and his vision. With a quirked head soon tilted upright, it filled itself with wonders. "I see." These were not holes he put in her chest, no. These were bites, and he smothered her in those, and she knew they were praise. He praised her.

He loved her.

"Does he enjoy this better?" With her mouth, it is soon on his skin, with her jaws slowly, slowly clenching along his throat, inch by inch until she worked down to slick centimeters.