Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 40901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
“I have long hunted you,” I remind her.
“I know. You’ve been incredibly bad at it. Enjoy my captivity while it lasts.”
The prey does not know the hunter, but the hunter must know the prey intimately. I have spent the last years of my life learning her ways, as much as possible. I have stalked her, though she has not been easy quarry.
My file on her is sparse, but accurate, put together over years of interviews and research. She was born on the thirteenth of January, 1982. Her mother passed in birth. She was raised in an institution, an orphanage until she was six years old, at which point she was recorded as being transferred. Her next appearance was in Russia, at the age of sixteen, where she surfaced as Katya Petrov in the care of a convent.
Katya has never known a stable home, or a proper family. That would make some people temperamentally dangerous. It certainly makes her unpredictable. Even lying naked before me, she is a mystery.
“Are you going to fuck me, Sheriff? Or are you just going to stare at me?”
“I could stare at you for years,” I tell her. She’s impatient. She wants me to ravage her again. She wants to revel in the pleasure of punitive sex and cast me as monster. I am a monster, but that sweet cunt will be filled when I decide, not when she demands.
She sits up and looks at me scornfully. “Do you know why you have me, Sheriff? Or are you like so many men, you saw something beautiful, and you had to possess it. Now you don’t know what to do. Is that what you’re doing with the artifact?”
She’s referring to the other prize I took when I laid hands on her, abducting her from her facility in Germany. The flesh of Jesus of Nazareth resides in my possession, a small nugget of divine flesh. It has been closely guarded for a long time. It is the object of many mad desires to create the conditions for resurrection, to use the science of genetics to bring the end of the world to pass.
“Don’t you worry what I am doing with that,” I tell her. “Worry about what I am doing with you.”
“Staring at me like a dog that doesn’t know how it is going to bury the oversized bone it stole from the butcher?” She laughs at me with easy arrogance. I have to admire her composure. Where most women would be threatened, she is at ease. Her nakedness does not make her more vulnerable. If anything it seems to make her stronger. She wields her nudity as a weapon. She knows what the sight of her is doing to me, she knows the blood is leaving my head and flooding my crotch. She knows I want to fuck her.
I should fuck her.
I grip her by the ankles and draw them wide. I spread her for me, exposing the most vulnerable and female parts of her to my gaze. Pulling her toward me puts her on her back. I expect a struggle, even a token one, but she doesn’t bother. She lowers her lashes and looks up at me under them, waiting for me to make my move. Waiting for me to ravage her.
“When was the last time you were with a man, Katie? Before I captured you, of course.”
“Last time implies I’m with a man now. You’re not a man. You’re a worm. A soft-cock with no nerve, and even less sense.”
She’s insulting me. Goading me. She wants me to prove my dominance and fuck her roughly. She wants to be hate-fucked. Katie has no conception how much she gives away when she talks like this, how transparent her desires are. She’s lying there with her legs open, practically begging me to fuck her, but she doesn’t have the manners to ask nicely. She’s too proud. I’ll break her of that pride.
“I can smell you, angel,” I tell her. “I know you want to be fucked more than you want to breathe right now. You don’t deserve my cock, and you won’t be getting it until you learn to be a good girl.”
She pouts. It is an incredible moment of truth from her, and it only lasts a second before she hides the expression away from me behind a cynical, scornful exterior once more. I saw it, though, I saw that brief flash of her true feelings, and it endeared her to me more than I can admit.
“Stay,” I say, lowering her feet to the bed. I do not close her legs, and she does not close them for me either. There is a little chest near the bed, a repository of toys I have curated for this angel. There are so many I could use, but there’s a specific one I have in mind. When I purchased it, I thought it might be too small, and too ineffective for proper use, but now I understand what I had in mind. It is a small dildo with a flared base. It is the sort of size usually designed for the anus, but this will not see her pretty rear. This is going to slide between her slick lips and seat inside a harness that would usually hold a dildo.