by Jiraiya Hull
He tilted his head down at her. “You’re not done, are you?”
“No,” she said, though exhaustion was creeping up on her. “Different one.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Missionary.” She reined her apprehension. “I think I can take it.”
Hull gave her an odd look, his wry smile upside-down, yet the expression was more out of jest than disapproval. “Sweetheart, I’m not sure if you want the full Hull, but I do appreciate a classic. And if I may add . . .”
He parted her thighs, his back flexing as he loomed over her, arms bulging as he placed his hands at her sides. He brought his muzzle to her, his widening pupils boring into hers. His lips peeled back, his breath upon her torrid, sweet, spicy. His voice, this close, resonated through her. “You are an absolute delicacy, and it is taking a substantial effort not to take you as I want.”
She didn’t doubt that he could break her. Every inch of him exuded raw strength, and she wished her hands were unbound so her fingertips could trace the contractions of his muscle as he moved with preternatural fluidity.
His flank and thighs tightened as he slipped into her again. He whispered, “This may get a little intense. I don’t get this request often, and as I said . . .” She screamed as he pressed into her, her chest heaving as she tried to calm her hammering heart. He nuzzled against her ear and whispered, “I’m fond of the classics.”
His entire body rose and fell as his shaft pierced her, her lips pulling against his girth. All at once she needed her hands around him, not out of emotional need, but to take in as much of the experience as possible. “Cut them off. Please, cut them off.”
Without missing a thrust, the claw of his forefinger severed the bounds, and the realization that this beast could effortlessly kill her added another red, another facet to the spectrum, lost and returned as she gripped the thin layer of fur upon his back. She cried out again as hard sinew pulsed beneath her tips.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and met his rhythm. Her hands couldn’t find purchase in one spot: they ran down to his obliques, her nails in his lumbar as they dragged to his upper back. She quivered, dug deeper into his skin as he filled her.
She sucked in a breath as his thick arms encompassed her, kept her limbs free to roam. She was sweating beneath him, his body a furnace against hers. With her newfound freedom, she chewed a little on his pierced ear, the flesh thinner, tempting. She ran her tongue along it, flicked the two piercings, her arms hugging him as he dug.
Sensitive as she was, her insides tightened as he throbbed within her. A part of her didn’t want it to end, yet she was eager for the climax. Still, she slowed her speed, tried to control him for as long as she could hold out.
Her hands returned to his back, her legs squeezing tighter as his torso curled. He did not relent, and his guttural breaths deepened, the bed groaning before his weight and power, the depth of his growling reverberating through her. He held his head up, eyes closed as he drew in a deep breath. She yelped as he took a hold of her chin and raised her neck, his tongue lightly rasping against her skin. She whimpered, his teeth a reminder of how easily she could fall prey to him. Her palms ran up his triceps, and another sharp pleasure went through her as the tip of his tongue licked her jugular. It had taken time, but the pain was dwindling as endorphins rushed through her.
Hull tossed his mane back, his teeth clenching, neck muscles bulging and shoulders striating. He placed his fists at either side of her, the pressing of his arms in sync with the rocking of his hips, her body curving against his spearing. His great form shadowed her, with only the whites of his eyes as reddened halos that pierced her.
The advent of the climax was unspoken. He became voracious in his punishment, arms bending as he intensified his pace, his growling louder, the human elements gone. She clenched her teeth. One of her nails broke against his forearm, and she couldn’t contain the scream that came forth from her. Again, he quickened, his panting rapid, maw widening, breaths as sultry bellows upon her glistening flesh.
Their fever reached its peak, his undulations quick and unhinged. Her nails latched onto his back, her teeth in his shoulder as the buildup, agonizing and euphoric, was ready to spill over. Hull was silent for a moment.
His back violently arched, his every muscle knotting, his entirety within her, the final stab sending her over the precipice as her cry became a shriek, his roar quaking her as he came, his seed nearly scalding as it erupted, filling her with warmth.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe. The aftershock hit her, and she writhed beneath him, her toes curling and abdomen tensing as she bit down on her forearm. She shook as he slid out of her and rolled onto his back, his great chest heaving. They laid there and caught their breath, outstretched arms still brushing against each other as they submerged a little longer within the red haze, briefly listless to everything save for their softening breaths and mutual heat.
Chuckling, Hull said, “I didn’t think you were going to make it for a moment. Color me all kinds of impressed.” Exhaling lightly, he turned his head to Jirina and asked, “Now, what can I do for you in terms of aftercare?”
The faculty of speech wasn’t currently available to Jirina. She just wanted to lie there and doze, revel in the sweet ache within her loins. Yet she would need to leave eventually. Slowly, she tested her muscles, winced as she tried to slide off the bed.
Hull was quick to stop her. “Ain’t no hurry,” he assured as he rose smoothly from the bed and stretched. Jirina eyed him for a moment, his back a masculine hourglass of thew and fine fur. Marveling at him, she wasn’t quite sure how she had survived. She was almost certain that she would be bleeding, if she wasn’t already.
Hull bent at the waist and opened the nightstand, took out a small, plastic bottle and poured her a glass of water from a crystalline decanter. With the glass and bottle in hand, he stretched his great torso toward her and rattled the Ibuprofen. “Something tells me you’re going to need this.”
With half-open eyes, she took the bottle from him. Grimacing, she managed to sit upright against the headboard as she took out the pills. She popped four into her mouth and grabbed the water from Hull. Within a few gulps, she had drained the entire glass. She hadn’t realized how much she had perspired. She looked at the bed, the burgundy sheets dark with sweat and sex. She wondered what their laundry bill looked like.
Hull said, “This is a bit of a rarity for me. Most women aren’t as . . . open-minded as you. I’ve even ran a few off when I dropped trou, and some didn’t even make it there.”
She shook her head a little at that. “Wasn’t their scene, I guess. So, what do you usually get?”
Hull shrugged a shoulder and tossed some of his mane back. “A lot of flogging. Little bit of cutting. Guys and gals have been known to enjoy a good predatory romp, if you will.”
She blinked at that. “Like being hunted?”
“You guessed it,” Hull said as he walked over to her side of the bed and leaned his back against the wall. “Who better than a bona fide beast? Not that I mind, of course. Different strokes and all that.”
Jirina glanced at his assets. Again, she wasn’t sure how she hadn’t been reduced to a paraplegic. “Well,” she reasoned, more to herself than to Hull, “you’re very human in a lot of ways. Except when you climax.”
“Mighty kind of you to say.” He took the glass from her and placed it upon the nightstand. “Think you can walk?”
She let out something between a laugh and a sob. “Wasn’t wanting to think about that.” She shifted her legs to the edge of the bed, and with a mental hitch and jerk, pushed herself up. She almost staggered, her lower body stiff, her abdomen aching in protest. She limped over to her clothes, the act of bending like a dull knife through her hamstrings and core. Hull joined her and picked up his pants. It still boggled her as to how he had managed to find clothing that flattered his form, much less ones that were leather.
&nb
sp; Once they finished, Jirina gathered her belongings. Hull opened the door for her, and Jirina did her best not to stumble out of the room. Upon exiting, she turned to him and asked, “Perhaps we could do this again sometime? You know, once I heal up.”
Hull crossed his arms and shrugged. “Depends on my schedule. You were lucky you caught me today, but I’m sure something could be arranged.”
She couldn’t readily part her eyes from him. He fascinated her. His mannerisms, body, and speech were still a part of this world. To her, he was less of an animal and something else entirely. She was surprised with herself. She had no self-disgust, even though many would have considered the act bestiality, and she had never had an interest in that. She hadn’t just been physically sated. She had been taken elsewhere, given something new beyond the jadedness.
Smirking, she tapped him on his nose. “Sounds good, beasty.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Lookin’ forward to it. Come again.”
“Oh,” she said as she pivoted from him. “I think I’ve done plenty of that already.”
Hull was still grinning as she managed an upright walk down the corridor. She stopped for a moment and had a small exchange with Goza. Apparently, she had been pleased with the visit, not that the admission surprised him. He was cocking his head at her as she departed through the front door. Once she left, he took slow steps down the hall and turned the corner toward Goza, his arms still crossed.
Goza, with her chin in her hand, swiveled in her seat toward him. “I’d ask how it went except for the fact that she’s walking with a bow between her legs.”
Hull huffed out a laugh and rested his back against the wall, his legs crossing. “Absolute sweetheart. Real trooper. I’m thinking we’ll see her again.”
“Hm,” Goza said, her eyes crinkling. “She wouldn’t happen to have a taste for women, would she?”
“Not that she let out,” Hull said. “Wouldn’t surprise me though.”
“Really?” Goza mused over the idea. “I wouldn’t mind getting loaned out for that.”
“And I wouldn’t mind watching.” Hull licked his fangs. “Or joining, for that matter. Only fair considering how generously you loan me.”
Goza bit her lower lip, her elbows resting on her desk as she clasped her fingers. Leering at Hull, she asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be spent for today, would you?”
Hull chortled, his head nodding at the door. “That wet my appetite. What do you have for me?” Goza opened the bottom drawer of the desk. Inside was a coil of black, barbed wire. Staring down at it, Hull licked his chops. “Woman, why do you tease me so?”
Goza closed the drawer and lightly raked her long, black nails against the desk. “Because I’m dom today, and we have damn good rafters.”
Thank you for reading Cimmerian, my first endeavor at the genre and certainly not my last with Hull and the gang, as well as the wonderful ladies that brave the wilder side of life.
I have to admit: it was certainly fun writing this, and I hope you felt the same reading it! If you want to get to know the denizens of Cimmerian a little better, you can check out http://jiraiyahull.deviantart.com/ for future stories and other tomfoolery.
And if you loved the illustration, why not give http://niahawk.deviantart.com/ a look. She’s a great artist and a lovely person as well.
As for me? Well . . .
About the Author
Born and raised in the United States, Jiraiya Hull is a writer of many genres, be it humor, action, horror, and now, erotica. When he’s not rattling away at a keyboard or strangling his thesaurus, he can be found with his eyes glazing as he partakes in Guild Wars 2 and other PC games, and to ensure that he doesn’t solely become a gelatinous purveyor of stories, the enigmatic dork can also be found lifting heavy objects as he conducts strange, meathead rituals.
