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Krimson's Writing Samples (Status in first post)

Krimson

Super-Earth
Joined
Jul 7, 2010
Status:

4/13/2015

FINALS MONTH AHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Has chained herself to her chair with a can of coke and a box of pizza; will not move until I get most, if not all, of my replies out.


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This space will be used to post writing samples to be linked to my signature. Makes for easy viewing and less effort on my part. c:

Hit the End key for most recent~
 
RE: Krimson's Space

06-15-2014

It would appear that her father had not been incorrect about her lacking discipline. Before his untimely death, the demon lord often shook his head at her, his youngest daughter. Jezebel didn't understand him then - she was fast for her age, and strong too. But he had been right about her excessive pride. The same pride got her thrown out by her older siblings, and now, being pummeled by a mere mortal.

She had underestimated the mortal's speed, realized far too late as surprisingly strong fingers seized her arm. Her triumphant laugh broken by an uncharacteristic squeal as Mary all but yanked her out of the air, the back of her head hitting the cold hard concrete. Her wings helped break the fall, but before she could snap out of the daze of being manhandled so, the etched metal struck caught her jaw, across the bridge of her nose, and just kept coming.

For a moment, Jezebel simply struggled, adrenaline and instincts in full control as she attempted to dislodge the crazed hunter. And there was no doubt about it - this woman was as psychotic as they came. But even as her wings beat against Mary, tearing new scratches and inflaming the old, the hunter was entirely unmoved in her relentless assault. Jezebel had fought off other hunters before, but never once had she found herself in this situation, being literately bludgeoned half to death.

As it grew increasingly clear that panicked struggle would not save her, the demon's quick mind was already turning. Pain-glazed ambers flashed bright gold, and she summoned what she could of her magic. There was the slight sound of creaking metal, drowned about by her own cries of agony, and then a torn piece of sturdy metal cable was ripped from the wall and sent flying right at them from behind the hunter's back.

The sinewy cables struck true, knocking the woman aside. And already they were bending, twisting and coiling around the hunter, holding her arms immobile by her side.

With a wince, Jezebel picked herself up off of the ground. A clawed hand gingerly touched her jaw, and she winced again. She could taste copper, her own blood freely flowing from her battered face and lips, the price of her arrogance. Demonic golds gazed coldly at the struggling hunter. "You will pay for that, bitch." She spat out, bruised and bloodied face twisted even further in a snarl. With another wave of her hand, she summoned the etched gun from the ground to her palm. An executioner's shot. Fitting for one who sought to execute her.

But even as she raised her arm to shoot, those frenzied green-blue eyes inspired a better idea. This hunter was foolish to hunt alone, but her strength was incontestable. She had, after all, temporarily bested even Jezebel herself. Appraising golds examined the hunter's form, lingering at the straining muscles and the face convoluted by rage. No...she would not kill the hunter. Not yet. Such a feral creature could be made to serve much greater purposes. Abigor's face flashed through her mind. Jezebel smiled, arrogance and sensuality molding into one as she walked toward the hunter. "Good night." A dark whisper, before she slammed the hilt of the pistol into the side of the hunter's temple, knocking the woman out.

Much greater purposes indeed...but first, a hound must be trained before it can be sent out to hunt. Some breaking in is in order. Throwing the gun carelessly on top of the prone woman, she crossed both arms overhead and began to chant. A strange demonic incantation. Perhaps, with age and experience, she would master the art. But as young as she was, the best she could manage was short-ranged teleportation to a known target after a long incantation. Luckily for her, her loft wasn't far from here.

When the hunter came to, she would find herself spreadeagled in chains. Her wrists bound by thick, linked steel hanging from seemingly nothing, and similar shackles binding her ankles to the ground, giving just barely enough room to struggle, but not to lash out or strike. But a dark dungeon she would not find, nor any obvious instruments of torture. Please, Jezebel had class.

Mary was chained in her extravagant living room, held by demonic magic - she had taken the time to carefully enforce each post, no mortal could escape such a prison. It was almost humorous to look upon the passed out hunter, hair matted and wound still seeping crimson from where her claw had cut through skin. A sudden paltry concern worried Jezebel. All that blood...and the more that's come, hopefully it wouldn't stain her carpet and white leather sofa set too much.

No matter, she had to change before the hunter woke. Appearing as disheveled as Mary did un-befitting for a demon of ancient blood. With the hunter secured in her living room, Jezebel went to clean up. Healing herself took time - magic was quite convenient in that regard. Soft golden light emitting from her hand slowly soothed the obvious gashes and bruises, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief. Gosh, getting beat up simply wasn't fun; she'd have to return the favor, and soon. But first, a shower, and a change of cloth.

It was nearly thirty minutes before the demon re-emerged from her bedroom, hair slightly dripping water, face unblemished as ever. She wore a simple bathrobe, a short little number of flimsy and black fabric, one clearly designed to entice rather than serve any practical purposes. It covered her hips and most of her breast, but left practically everything else bare. A single droplet of water caressed invitingly down her cleavage; her tanned skin gleamed under the daylight filtering from the large lake-facing bay windows. The loft was high - but there was no guarantee that a passing pedestrian wouldn't catch a glimpse should they choose to look up.

"Well well, how the table have turned." The demon murmured as she approached, even the impervious smirk could not damage her raw sensuality.
 
RE: Krimson's Space

07-2014 The Path of the Unconquerable Queen with darkest_fate

Kyra was far too ancient to pointlessly brandish her power. There was a purpose behind every action. From the chains ensnaring the once unresistant champion, to the revealing of her demonic nature, to her cruel mockery of Lyrella's trapped state; there was a perfectly rational explanation for each. Perhaps the explanation was not of some grand overarching design, but certainly one well-suited to her interests - Lyrella was not allowed to hang onto even the illusion of cooperation. There was nothing "willing" about what was happening. Kyra thought to dominate, and passivity and acceptance of her dominance was almost...boring. She wanted to see the champion struggle and fight, wanted to see anger and fear alike cloud those pretty sapphires, wanted Lyrella to realize just how fucked she was, and, after bringing her to the peak of fury, drive her toward an altogether different precipice...

Humans were such expressive creatures. To a demon, each emotion was like a drink of a different flavor, all intoxicating in their own rights. But, amid them all, lust was by far the most delicious. If Kyra could read Lyrella's thoughts, surely she would have laughed again. A succubus? If only if she were something so low-class, something that relied on the sexual essence of living creatures for survival. But either way, there was no reason to correct the mistake. She didn't mind being underestimated - her last blunder with humanity had taught her a lesson: the shadow-cloaked arrow was far harder to evade than the brightly flashing sword. Plus, there was some appeal in letting Lyrella think that she was but a demon scion, a weak creature unable to best the champion in physical combat. The weaker Lyrella perceived her to be, the greater the humiliation the champion will face upon being forced to submit.

What a horribly innocent creature this one was. Kyra purred with pleasure as the wet tongue embraced her own, naively dueling against hers in a battle for dominance. Lyrella wielded her tongue as if a spear, thrusting and twisting as if she could somehow tongue-fuck Kyra to submission. It was amusing but also arousing, her arousal made evident in the flush upon her features, the fog settling over her eyes, giving her an even more enticing look. Of course, one does not live this long only to be distracted by arousal. The licks of desire were pleasant, but hardly able to cloud her judgment. As the champion pulled back to hurl insults at her, insults that rang rather hollow - she needed not this one's approval to know her own strength - the demon only greeted Lyrella was an infuriating smirk.

"Oh I'm so frightened," she mocked in an exaggerated tone. "As for whether not you are a whore, only time would tell, my dearest..." Even as she spoke, her hand slipped from Lyrella's jaw to caress the tanned column of throat, dancing over the golden rings down to trace overly shapely collarbones, descending further still, brushing enticingly over the full swell of breast. Her tantalizing touch grew firmer; the demon palming a full breast, finding it exceeding a handful. She kneaded with surprising gentleness, applying precisely enough pressure to arouse. Her palm grazed against the sensitive peak - the flimsy fabric did little to hinder her touch, if anything, the smooth silk only enhanced the sensuality of her motions. But Lyrella dost protest too much. The demon would see to it that the next time she opened her mouth, it would be to give voice to moans rather than more frivolous words. Her thumb ghosted over that peak now, already firm and eager for her touch. The demon was yet unwilling to give a firmer touch, only brushing teasingly over that stiffened peak, sending tingles of pleasure coursing through her unwilling captive. Another rather interesting faucet of her fluids - whatever sensitivity Lyrella had would only be increased. Not to ridiculous heights, to be sure, but enough to allow her to feel every touch as pleasurable, excruciatingly so.

That spaded tail was quite unwilling to stay still as well. It trailed along the length of a toned thigh, stroking delicately as if a lover's touch. Caressing over the sensitive flesh of Lyrella's inner thigh, dancing over to the other, drifting ever so close to the junction between thighs, hinting at what's to come, but never quite touching. She leaned in for another kiss, a kiss placed along the shapely jaw, following that arc to suckle upon the champion's earlobe, before nipping at the ridge of her ear with a hint of fang. Her touches were light, playful almost. Despite the claws tipping her fingers, the demon had yet to evoke any pain. At present, she wanted Lyrella to feel quite the opposite...it would be great fun to see arousal tainting the anger the champion was broadcasting so strongly.
 
RE: Krimson's Space

1/25/2015 Sin for the Sinless with Sinister Lullaby

The Wolves wasn't a terribly big gang, nor was it a terribly small gang. It was local, territorial, quaint in a 80's Chicago sort of way. Minus the fedoras, of course. How it started, no one knew, but history was hardly the strong suit of street thugs. No one cared either. On the streets, force was law, and force made right. In Veronica Sánchez's humble opinion, the Wolves wasn't much more than a bunch of young thugs with guns. They thought themselves wolves, feral, masculine, powerful. But really, the boys deceive themselves. They were nothing but dogs. Frothing at the mouth, swaggering and boastful, so blissfully unaware of the chain around their necks, a chain held by Veronica's father.

Now that man...for all his glaring flaws, was a wolf. Ruthless, ambitious, so single-minded and dogged in his endeavors that others cannot help but follow, but admire. He wasn't a terribly big man, nor terribly tall. Average was perhaps the best word for him. And, now well in his fifties, balding as well. In spite of his rather unassuming look, Sebastian Andres Sánchez was a born leader. It was his air, his charisma, that regaled and subdued in the same instant. Sebastian was a terrible father, all things considered, but he was a good gang leader.

That said, Veronica can't really complain about her life. Well, she could, after all, being born into a world of violence and drugs was hardly every little girl's dream. But it suited her, the darkness that is. She was many things, but she was not naive. The world was an ugly place, like a motherfucker that got haymakered right in the jaw. But she learned to appreciate it, to find beauty in its darkened crevices. What other little girls would have been horrified by, she found empowerment, freedom, and she excelled.

But that was a story for another time.

Tonight, like many other nights, she was content drowning herself in the luxuries of the modern cosmopolitan lifestyle. Not alone, of course. Some would call her vain for admitting so, but really, anyone with a pair of eyes could see that this Colombian gang-princess was practically sex on heels. She wasn't just beautiful with her 5'7'' statute and model-esque build. She was sublime. Her dark brown waves framed a strong jaw and oh-so-kissable lips. Skin too perfectly bronzed to be the result of fake tanning. Ochre eyes, the centerpiece of this masterwork, beckoned with a flirtatious light. But if one peered hard enough into those smoldering orbs, there was a certain savagery there, a certain untamed spirit that did not belong in such an otherwise so enticing woman. And what a woman she was. There was nothing girlish about her mannerisms, nor the way she dressed, save only for her youth. Everything from the arch of shapely brows to the little black dress that hugged her like a second skin oozed raw sexuality, screamed sex appeal, dared the onlooker to bend her over and...but of course, many have tried, all have failed. Those who knew Veronica knew this also - you don't choose to bed her, she chooses you.

Her friends were quite the lookers too. Martin, tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious to boot. The tight gray blazer and V-neck muscle shirt left little of his chiseled body to the imagination. Armed with nothing but his pearly whites, it was not as if this stud needed any other weapon to cream panties and pants alike. Next to Veronica, Angelica looked like a sweetheart. The pink cocktail dress sold the image too, so did the coy smile. But that playful glint in her sapphire eyes told a different tale, so did that finger twirling a strand of curly red locks.

It doesn't matter where they went, they cut quite the picture and turned heads. Nor did they stay in one place for long - the game of cat and mouse become tiring quickly when the mouses are meek and bland. They were wolves, predators, on the hunt for the latest thrill. And that was what brought them to the Gold Wing today, smelling like a mixture of expensive fragrance and alcohol.

But before she could even make it into the door, the club greeted her face-first in the form of a panicked young lady, charging out of the door and straight into Veronica. She stumbled a step, eyes widening in surprise, but quickly composed herself, brow arcing in surprise and voice laced with amusement when she spoke. "My...not bashful are you, my dear. I don't even know your name yet." She didn't move to push the girl away, letting her breath linger, practically purring the words next to Jai's ear.

"Oh, Vera, leave the poor girl be, she looks rather startled." A smooth lilt, Angelica playfully swatting her friend on the shoulders.

Veronica chuckled in good humor, before she helped Jai upright herself. A surprisingly cute blond, she noted with another tilt of brow, before smiling with a mixture of friendliness and allure. "I'm Veronica, and my friends and I were going to grab a drink before our chance encounter, feel free to join us if you like. I for one are more than interested in what's got you so flustered."

Martin joined in with a sympathetic smile. "You ok?" He inquired, before gesturing back at the door. "Maybe we can help."
 
RE: Krimson's Writing Samples and Random Musings (Comments Welcome)

2/1/2015

I got all my replies out! I'm so proud of myself!!!!

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The New Job with ZaraPlay

The more one expects, the harder reality hits in one's face.

Alicia Zhou learned that lesson long ago. Thus, she expects nothing but anticipates everything. Her thoroughness puts the other staffers to shame, and that's why, she, at thirty-one, was already managing celebrities just shy of A-list. As their business manager, she served a function not unlike a chief of staff, and as her many assistants would testify, she was a fair but demanding boss. Everything had to be perfect, every detail micromanaged. To say she was OCD would be an understatement.

Tonight was a big deal for Shane West, one of the brightest and hottest Adonis rising to stardom. The kid's a talented rapper, got a good sob story to go with his rise to fame too. From the six-packs to the no-fucks-given attitude to the swagger, every detail of his image was carefully managed. There was just a teeny tiny problem - Shane was about as straight as a rainbow. To be fair, society was a lot more accepting nowadays. In a metropolis such as this, most people wouldn't even bat an eyelash to see guys holding hands or kissing on the streets. But it was always a different matter with celebrities, especially a rapper, the embodiment of male virility... Let's just say as Shane's business manager, it was her job to keep that facet under wrap.

Everywhere he went, it was necessary that at least one pretty young thing was seen on his arm. Usually there will be other girls, but, given that this was a party thrown for a charity, she decided one would be more appropriate. She had asked her assistant to book Ivory, an escort she's worked with frequently in the past, but apparently Ivory was sick with the flu, and her dimwitted assistant, instead of informing her of this unfortunate event, decided to accept another escort in Ivory's place. She could smack him for that mistake. An new girl on such an important evening? How dare he introduce an unknown variable without her express permission. And so, she sat fuming silently in the back of the limo, waiting to meet the escort herself first, to make sure everything was checked out before letting this girl hang on Shane's arm for a few minutes.

At least this escort was prompt, she thought, checking her watch as Candice made her way down the stairs. Yes, she still wears a watch, but it was less because she was old-fashioned and more another aspect of her incredible OCD. Everything from her hair - silken black strands void of a single split end or frizzy hair, to her outfit - tailored and ironed dress shirt, pants, and a smart but trendy plait jacket, was picture perfect. Chic and sexy enough to fit in a high class event, but low-key enough to not steal the limelight. Compared to Candice, her own makeup was light, professional, emphasizing her intense dark eyes and no-bullshit attitude. But of course, she wore a practiced smile, polite in the most adverse of situations.

As Candice approached the limo, Alicia exited first, holding the door open politely as she gave the escort a once over. She nodded slightly to herself, at the very least satisfied with the escort's appearance. A little over the top on the sex appeal, in her humble opinion, but given her role, it was fitting, and she had to admit that this girl was very beautiful. The smokey eyes and figure-hugging dress evoked a different sort of appeal than Alicia's own professional attires, but she most certainly more than passed in the looks category. "Hi, I'm Alicia, Shane's manager," she greeted, extending a hand and wearing a manufactured smile, wanting to see if the girl handled social situations smoothly. And, after shaking hands, continued to hold open the door for the escort to enter. The back of the limo was spacious, black leather sofas on either end. She waited for the girl to be situated before continuing. "I'm sure you are already familiar with these events, but it is my job to make sure everything goes smoothly. When we arrive, we will meet Shane in a back room, you will enter the ball on his arm. Smile for the cameras, but don't go overboard, make sure the attention is on him. And..."

She continued, lecturing rather excessively on every last detail as she seated opposite Candice. Reality's name is Alicia, and she hits hard.
 
RE: Krimson's Writing Samples

Dear RP Partners,

Sorry for the delay. I shall get everything out after this week. Have a brief due on Sunday, so no time this week! Sorry!
 
RE: Krimson's Writing Samples

3/29/2015 Omg a Fate/SN fandom, I'm so excited! I'm such a Gilgamesh fangirl. Probably won't do him justice, but I shall strive nevertheless.

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In The World That You Created I'm Intoxicated with Fyre


"Gates of Babylon..."

Off in the distant, a pair of sanguine eyes observed, lips curved in a perpetual smirk. A red most startling - the shade a few hues lighter than blood, gleaming with a radiance brighter than any rubies. Similar to, perhaps, a bottle of treasured Bordeaux, left to ripen and age, swirling seductively with a hint of decadence that bespoke of its owner's wealth.

A wealth put on prominent display in the most aggressive fashion possible - where the two Servants once engaged in their duel, the golden gate shimmered into existence. Time and space itself seemed to ripple; the glint of blade the only warning before suddenly a hundred weapons of all shapes and types were pelting from where there was once only the empty night. Swords, lances, axes...each unique, the predecessors of famous arms to come, raining down upon Lancer and Rider with savage intent, propelled forward but nothing but Gilgamesh's will.

The male Servant got off lucky...Speed, after all, was the Lancer class' forte, and he's managed to stay his decisive strike and retreat instead, the ground where he once stood peppered by weapons buried to the hilt. Rider, already exhausted from the duel, had no such luck. Penetrated entirely through by a variety of sharpened blades...her form wavered, before shattering into a million pixels, the Servant recalled to the eternal resting place of the heroic spirits, her participation in this Grail War forcibly revoked.

"Well...well..."

From the shadows of a large oaken tree, a solitude form emerged. Black slacks the same shade of his shirt, covered by a jacket of pure white, the collar lined with fur. Even in the dark of the night, his hair seemed to glow - the most brilliant shade of gold imaginable, a shade that all but proclaimed his nobility. The royal blood flowing strongly inside his veins evident upon his every feature, and, even clad in arguably fashionable modern clothing, Gilgamesh carried himself every bit the King that he was.

"No hard feelings indeed..." A quirk of that golden brow, his smirk widening as he raised his hand - the same golden gate manifesting once more, the tips of the weapons emerging, aimed at Lancer and his Master. "That was a rather disappointing Rider..." A glance at where nothing remained, the weapons dematerializing once more into his vault. "But perhaps you would offer me a little more entertainment." A fanatic gleam flickered through those crimson gemstones; his gaze trained onto Rin's, beckoning and challenging all at once. "Tokiomi's daughter..."
 
RE: Krimson's Writing Samples

FINALS MONTH.

Short version: I'm alive and am around, but expect slower posting and stuff since I'M FREAKING THE FK OUT.

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4/3/2015

Might as well throw these posts here since I've put them into RQs...just in case anyone's interested in some League fandoms. =D

Part 1

Rengar at least had the excuse of not having read the patch notes...but the cougar had none but her own glaring weakness - sound judgment forgotten, shoved aside by need and passion. His free claw, the one not pinned by the javelin but the limb weakened on account of his busted shoulder, pierced into the earth below. All five points shredding hardened mud to dust in a decisive Empowered Strike...Tsk tsk. Nidalee really ought to have checked resource bars.

The fierce battle roar that rang out was all but deafening at the sheer proximity. His form glowing golden, an ethereal sheen that pulsated for only a second upon his musculature, but its effects instant. Wounds sealing upon themselves, his pierced shoulder restored to nothing more than naked glory. The claw tearing the javelin from his other, the wound closing as well. Only crimson streaks remained upon his pristine fur, evidence of the cougar’s transgressions.

It all happened in but a split second, and suddenly both claws were seizing the once proud huntress. Those sharpened tips digging into scalp as he drove the woman down his length, forcing her throat to part for his cock, whether she willed it or not. Her own hands, having chosen a course of action leaving herself defenseless, found themselves seized by the other. Claws embedding into her flesh as he tore her fingers from his own length; his other claw pressing down harder, driving her down the entirety of that lewdly bulging shaft, swallowing a length that she, on the best of days, could not have managed to conquer by herself.

His girth such that he filled the entirety of her throat, compelling her lips wide apart as he began to fuck into her, thrusting with his hips even as his claw seized her hair and began driving her up and down his length with an ease frightening. The pace he set abusive; Nidalee not allowed even the opportunity to bite, such was the might that compelled her.

But her earlier ministrations had been more than effective, one that bore fruit as she was forced to swallow the length for but a few brief moments. Another roar, one pleasure-filled, as the Pridestalker emptied himself into her no doubt sour jaw. An amount extravagant, matching his exorbitant girth. The first shot alone enough to fill her throat, the volume such that it completely filled the passage before even arriving at her gut. But of course, he was hardly so merciful as to be done after but one jet - another, another, his spasming length emptying what must have been liters of cum directly into her throat, the excess spilling out, dripping down her chin, soiling her furs and breasts, a shade of white brighter than her markings, covering even those as his orgasm lasted far longer than any human.

Pulling out, at the long last, not in an act of mercy, but only so that he might mark that proud visage, matting the umber hair and sealing the arrogant emeralds shut with the heavily scented fluid, coating nearly her entire face.

The Pridestalker laughed, even as his claw left Nidalee’s hands - in its place, a familiar bola remained, binding her wrists taut.

“I’m just getting started…”


Part 2

A raised brow bone and a smirk his response as he swatted her around with a large paw, knocking the still defiant creature into the earth. Both claws seizing her flesh, lifting her with unnatural ease, positioning the female as he desired before dropping her upon the ground, face down. His sadism evident in the way that he more than compelled, but sunk the tip of his claws into her flesh even as she had no choice but to acquiesce to the rough handling.

The sharpened tips marring her flesh in streaks of crimson, the scent of blood making him purr again, sniffing the air to inhale more of that potent mix - the both of their arousals complimented so perfectly by sanguine vitae. A claw gripping her ponytail still, tugging roughly at the silken threads as if reins to command an unruly mare, or perhaps a leash to tame the feral cougar. An act no doubt painful as he forced her to arc backwards sharply, to lessen the pain upon her scalp, an act serving no purpose other than because he could. His claw settling upon his rear, the tips digging deep, rending flesh as rivers of blood protested his abuse. Rengar laughed again, mocking the vulnerability of the woman bound and spread beneath him, the powerful huntress made frail beneath his bestial strength.

And still those lips glistened, her lust running twin rivers down her thighs, her arousal seemingly unabated even as his claws continued to rain abuse down her form, tearing into flesh at random, drawing bloodied streaks down the tanned stretch of back. A pain soon counterpointed by pleasure as he thrusted his conquering blade against her ass cheeks, still more than half-hard even after the amount he had poured into her gut already. The acts of sadism seemed to arouse him like none other, and, as he ground against those pleasing orbs, his shaft regained its fleshy hardness in the course of but a minute, throbbing against her flesh in a manner no doubt enticing to the horny female trapped beneath him. Laughing again as she ground back against him, writhing as she parted her thighs ever wider, her ass bouncing in an attempt to take him inside.

“Not so fast…”

The Pridestalker mocked, seemingly content with pleasuring himself with her cheeks even as his claw continued to mar her flesh at random.

“I seek only the strongest…”

The phrase growled as the claw in her hair dropped to the ground, stabilizing himself as he crawled forward, mounting her with intent. His meaty length slapped against her entrance even as he wrapped his digits around himself, guiding the steely lance against her...but pressed against an entrance she was no doubt not expecting.

“Lesser creature…”

The taunt uttered even as he thrusted forward, his bulbous head parting that tight hole. The fit exceedingly tight, bringing with it a spark of pain, one he seemed to love as he continued in his conquest, uncaring whether or not Nidalee could handle his girth in this manner.

“You do not deserve my seed in your slutty cunt...but this is a fitting prize for a slut such as you.”

He pressed his powerful chest against her back, compelling her breasts harshly into the earth. Driving his weight against her, nearly knocking the air out of the much slimmer cougar even as he raised his paw from the earth, seeking instead to insert those blade-tipped digits into her mouth. Three fingers all at once, a number unexcessive if not for just how large his paws actually were, stretching her mouth lewdly, reminiscent of a recent encounter. His digits toying with her tongue, seizing it, before releasing, before seizing it again, as if amused by her struggles. Pressing harshly enough with an edge of pain, the tip digging into the sensitive muscle, allowing her to taste her own blood, a decadence accompanied by his excessive girth thrusting into her tight hole, plundering her without mercy.
 
Urg. School is being school. My apologies for the slow replies - I'll try to get them out asap.
 
4/13/2015

Has chained herself to her chair with a can of coke and a box of pizza; will not move until I get most, if not all, of my replies out.

They are coming, my dear partners; all of my apologies for the delay.
 
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