⚠ WARNING: This chapter contains nonconsensual actions please read at your own dissection. ⚠
I'm left to wonder how exactly he plans on ensuring that I won't confuse him with another man again until my vision is obscured by the ribbon. I flinch as Dorian gingerly lifts my head up from the table, then makes a tight knot against the back of my head, immediately stealing away my right to see. I'm left to drown in the darkness that is only momentarily lit up by the sound of Dorian's voice.
"You'll know me just by my mere touch once I'm finished." His long exhales flow into my ears as he teasingly trails his fingertips down my neck, then to my chest where he traces the bottom curve of my breasts. "Remember this moment well so that I may never have to treat you in such a manner again."
Even though I know his patience has disappeared, I try to remove the ribbon from my face, only for my hand to be caught by Dorian's. "Remove that ribbon, and I won't just stop with a simple punishment. I'll give you a real punishment, fit for a naughty human like you. Understand, Cyra?"
It seems Dorian does not desire an answer from me, as he instantly slams his lips into my trembling ones. These kisses pull at my already aching lips and tug at the fear in my chest, forcing it to begin rising once more. He's not kissing me to love me anymore. No, he's kissing to hurt me, to scare me, and it does just that.
I whimper painfully at the sharp tips of his fangs digging into my bottom lip. My blood beads at the two wounds, covering my mouth with a horrible copper taste. Though I don't enjoy the taste, Dorian certainly does as he pushes himself harder into me, sweeping his tongue across the entirety of my lip.
This brings me no pleasure, especially not when I can't see him. All I can imagine is a beast towering above me, eating me whole. The soft pads of fingertips tracing the line of my stomach turn to the rip of claws that tear through the fabric of my dress and turn my skin into ribbons of red. It evokes strangled cries from me that are silenced by jaws that refuse to release me. Those cries turn to nothingness as a breath becomes caught in my throat.
His claws have ceased their torture upon my upper body and turned to my knees. The ripping pain flows up from my knees and beneath my dress to stop at my upper thighs. Only a shred of pleasure is found in this world of dark pain as I jolt against him, raising my hips to press to what could only be his hardened groin.
Nausea ripples through me at the thought that he's enjoying this. He's enjoying my squirming, my trembling, and my pained gasps that silently beg for mercy. However, no mercy is offered as I feel a sharp claw tug at the fabric of my underwear. The feeling is even more terrifying when all I can do is let the sensation grapple over me.
Maybe if I had been able to see, I would have not begun to weep, but instead, I might've been moaning in pleasure, begging him for more. That is not the case though. The fabric of the ribbon dampens from the tears flowing down my face. Despite this negative reaction, those beastly claws continue their assault.
Coldness nips at my hips as my underwear is dragged downward until it is at my knees. The sting of a claw presses against my lower lips, taunting me as it begins to spread me apart to reveal my greatest vulnerability.
A ghost of a cry comes from me at the feeling of something oddly wet and cold teasing my entrance. Only when I feel it enter me, slowly twisting and moving about, do I realize that it's his tongue. He pushes it deep inside me, gently sucking on my most sensitive spot.
My mind becomes muddled, and all I can feel is the sensation of him eating me alive. It drives every single thought out of my mind, leaving only a blank space behind and one single word: beast. With each repetition of the word in my barren mind and every swirl of his tongue, I flinch and buck my hips up in a futile attempt to escape his jaws.
After my fifth failed attempt, his arms hook my legs, lifting my hips off the desk and toward him. I twist and turn my body in his hold until I feel his finger and tongue slide into me. That is when my incoherent whimpers turn to loud moans. Those noises seem to only encourage him to continue feasting on me. The once steady entrance and exit of his finger turns erratic and rough. That combined with his tongue almost makes me lose control.
I know that if I don't do something soon, I will surely be devoured whole by this beast. My trembling hand raises from where it had been clawing into the desk, then it dips into the deep pocket of my dress. I stiffen up at the gut-ripping pressure residing in my abdomen, threatening to release itself at any moment.
At the feeling of a handle brushing against my fingers, I grip it with all my might, tearing my hand from my dress and forcing my body upward, blindly slashing the air before me. Immediately, the claws ripping into my thighs retreat and my hips slam back down to the table.
Something wet begins to drip onto my skin, compelling me to push the ribbon off my eyes. The sight I'm greeted with reminds me of who I'm with. I'm not with a man-eating beast but Dorian, a bloodied Dorian that has been cut by my blade.
I clench my jaw, flinching at the feeling of more of his warm, silver blood spilling forth from the jagged wound across his face. The blade in my hand is the reason there's a horrible scar on such a beautiful curse against nature. I had brought the blade to him. I had tried to hurt him.
Ragged exhales and inhales leave me as I drop the dagger to the desk. An apology swells from my closing throat, but it is stomped out as Dorian suddenly lunges toward me. I tense, fully expecting my demise to be sealed, though once more, I forgot that I'm not beneath a beast.
This realization comes to me as his arms wrap around me, raising me from where I lay on the desk to press me to his chest which can't seem to gather a proper breath of air within it.
"I'm no better than that half-blood," He softly says as he settles his head upon my shoulder. His blood wets the fabric of my dress, making it stick snugly to my skin. "I only ever want to cherish and please you. I promise you that, Cyra. I apologize with every bit of sincerity for doing otherwise."
My still-shaking hand fumbles for the dagger. I pick it up, slowly bringing it toward myself, then...I slip it back into the safety of my dress. This man is no beast. Although I had thought differently earlier, I know now that I had been mistaken by the trickery of darkness.
I pull from him, softly pushing his shoulders back to look at his face. It's streaked with glittering silver and regret that spills forth from his eyes. Even though he had been cruel to me earlier, I do not want to be the same, instead, I lean forward, lightly kissing him.
"I forgive you, Dori," These words come to me easily as I pull away, staring up into his glistening eyes that are still filled with every bit of regret known to man.
"Do not forgive me without thought," He tells me, hand beginning to come up from his side before it simply returns to its original resting place, "I refuse to accept such an inconsequential outcome for my actions."
I take the hand that had once been reaching for my cheek and wrap it in a comforting hold. As I hold his hand in my own, I feel the slight tremble of his limbs. He's being crushed under the guilt of what he had done to me. That alone is enough of a consequence for him, but I'm sure Dorian thinks otherwise.
Knowing him, he's probably expecting some gruesome form of tormenting that involves more of his silver blood spilling from him. I'm not up for purposefully hurting the man I love though.
I use my free hand to wipe away the excess blood that had begun lining the right side of his jawline. My touch makes him flinch, causing an idea to form in my mind. Sure, I may not want to hurt him, but a bit of sweet revenge never hurt anyone, now did it?
"I'll give you a befitting consequence, Dorian," I smile at him before I turn my body slightly to allow myself to point to the lavish red-cushioned chair behind the desk. "Sit."
The king-to-be has been ordered by a human to sit as if he's a mere dog. Such a thing is ridiculous for me to think about, even when I'm the one who just did it. It becomes even more ridiculous when he listens without any protest or shred of hesitancy.
A strange heat crawls into my body as I follow him with my eyes, watching him as he moves from me to the chair. His eyes lock onto my own as his body falls onto the chair. He's silent, almost as though he's waiting for me to demand more from him.
Oh, this is bad. Really, really bad because, in all honesty, I'm enjoying this. The power I hold over such an overwhelming being is so addicting that it's growing increasingly dangerous.
A smirk finds its way to my face as I pull my underwear back up to my hips. I pluck the ribbon off the desk, then hop to the floor. Slowly, I saunter over to Dorian, untying the tight knot in the ribbon. He shifts in his seat, hungry eyes sweeping all over me. It seems the heat has finally found him as well, but I won't let him find any comfort, at least not yet.
I sit on his lap, straddling his waist as I stretch the ribbon taut between my hands before treating Dorian just as he treated me a few minutes ago. When the ribbon is tied over his eyes, I take my next form of revenge and place my palm against his hard-on that's pressing against his pants. A low rumble emits from him as I apply more pressure.
"See," I whisper into his ear, "It's not so fun now that you're the one with no sight."
Now it is me who has become the beast and him the prey. His hand roughly grips my thigh, fingers digging into my skin with a warning as I dare to begin moving the end of my palm in short back-and-forth movements against his groin. The grip on my thigh grows increasingly harder as he stiffens under my touch.
I bask in the sound of his breath hitching. His head falls back against the top of the chair, and a deep groan falls from his lips. Just a little more and my thirst for revenge will be satiated. Those groans turn to brief, trembling exhales and inhales as I knead my hand over his groin very, very slowly and deliberately to keep him on edge.
Sharp nails begin to pierce through the skin of my thigh. A lost warning is within his grip that is now just a silent plea for me to show him mercy, and I did just that.
One hard and sudden squeeze to his groin and the tension within him unraveled. I smirk at the ever-growing pool of darkness seeping into his pants as a low rumble leaves his throat. Instead of removing the ribbon, I simply situate myself so that my legs are hanging off one arm of the chair and my back against the other. I'm careful not to move around too much for the sake of Dorian.
"Ah, ah, ah," I scold him with the tone of a parent when he begins to try to remove the ribbon himself, "Hands at your sides, Master Dorian."
He listens to me only slightly, as his hands rest onto my body. One lies on my thigh, the other on my stomach. Careful, circular motions are traced over me. I clench my jaw, trying not to squirm.
"Have you ever heard of the story of The Fox and the Bunny?" I ask him as I vainly distract myself from his touch. When no response comes from him, I proceed with the story, "Well, it starts off with a baby bunny and a baby fox. They are both naive and unaware of their roles in the food chain. This allows the two to become friends in the mellow heat of their spring days. As their friendship grows, their parents try to separate them. 'We are meant to run from the foxes, not play with them' , the bunny's parents told the baby bunny. 'We are meant to hunt and eat the bunnies, not play with them', the fox's parents told the baby fox. Despite their parents' words, they continued to play with each other through the summer and fall. By the time the world was blanketed with snow, the bunny and fox were as close as ever. But, with the snow, came a lack of food for the fox. His stomach lurched and growled every time he saw the bunny. He couldn't understand why he felt that way until he remembered his parents' words. Hunger eventually took hold of him and his jaws sank into the flesh of the bunny, staining the white land red with violence and betrayal."
"What a morbid story," Dorian comments as his hands finally still, "If that fox truly did have a pinch of care for the bunny, then he surely would have not eaten it. Rather, he would have just starved and lived out his dying days with his friend."
"Don't you agree?"
I nod, only to remember that Dorian cannot see me. Still, I don't bring my hands up to remove the ribbon from his eyes, instead, I just settle myself in his lap, resting my head against him in a sort of silent form of suffering.
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