speak

His horn slides in much easier than he expects; the weight of the filly is great as it presses down upon his form. He backs up hastily; the smooth surface of his weapon pulls out without a sound, sleek like the fox as it plumbs the black, tarish blood from her decrepit body. It spews forth from the wound. The black ass of the ground becomes congealed with the dark substance, a sinister puddle indeed. Yet she laughs; she moans in most indecent pleasure, and Reginald stops his retreat from her, intrigued and disgusted by her reaction. The intrigue grows beyond his disgust—it is a curious metaphor to him, for her to enjoy the destruction he brings to her flesh.

“What’s wrong with you,” he murmurs, a subdued command for her tongue to move, the curious lilt to his voice burdened with the hint of a tremble. He begins to feel anxious—her sickness is worrisome indeed. He wonders if he, too, should catch the virus that causes her fits of giggles, her carelessness to her person; he wonders of the blood sliding down his horn onto the bridge of his nose will creep into his veins and poison him as well. Yet he feels perfect. All things about him are as they usually are—even his feeble heart begins to grow in tempo, for the excitement of their encounter infects him, even if her plague does not.

All this speak of devouring him; all this talk of being mutilated by his horn. He does not comprehend her desires—he cannot fathom her pleasures. He grinds his molars as she thrashes at him wildly, begging for his horn again, beguiling him into battle. He does not rise to her bait; he backs away from her advances steadily, his walk calm even as his heart beats furiously against his ribcage. A pant pulls at his lips; he ignores it. “Come for me,” he croons suddenly; inspiration has hit his tongue. A fit of indignation grips his mind, a young boy’s irritation. He’s done with whatever game she has decided for them—she always gets to choose the game.
It’s his turn.

“You want to eat this?” he whispers, a hiss, a growl and a laugh rolled into one; he practically bears his teeth at her, the leer dripping from his eyes, falling from his lips. “Come here. Catch me.” I double-dog dare you. He backs away from her; the air behind him grows ever warmer. Fear threatens behind his eyes, but he is excited.


@[Jorogumo]