Butterfly Caught
The title is totally stolen from a song by Massive Attack, and I don't own it. But I will suggest you listen to some of their songs (particularly 'Angel', 'Inertia Creeps', and 'Butterfly Caught' itself) while you read this for the full 3-D experience.
What is 'this'?
This is a rather dark piece. There are no unicorns or gay kittens that fart rainbows. There is rape and blood and implied cub and general ugliness. Read at your own discretion.
On that matter, please note that this is intended for those of legal age. If you are not of legal age, I strongly recommend you shield your innocence and turn back now.
And if, having read that, you have the music set up and are willing to read on, enjoy!
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BUTTERFLY CAUGHT
A soft breeze carries with it the heavy tang of a bitch in heat, a creature with ruby red folds to reward any she deems worthy. Her heat is a gift to be given, passed from female to male as it always has been. It is not given freely--sometimes, not at all-but it doesn't stop the boys from trying.
Suiko is familiar with the whole play. He's accustomed to the rituals of mating, but not out of habit. He prefers his own more practical approach to the matter. Ritual and tradition are simply so time-consuming, so impractical, and a bitch in heat always wants to be fucked no matter what she says. That's how it works, and how it will always work.
The scent is starting to burn his flared nostrils, and the wolf runs his tongue over sharp, jagged teeth. His mouth is a terrifying creature on its own, inch-long needlepoints of ivory that might look better on a creature of the deep. His face too is a beast; one eye is wide and gray-gold and doesn't blink much any more; the other small and twisted and dark, the lids torn long ago in a fight. He is not massive like some of the older wolves, but hardened, and he has a thick, mangy pelt that bristles menacingly. Says, 'Don't fuck with me'.
His unconventional appearance is the sight that makes eyes sore. So he remains hidden, following the scent.
There might as well be a trail of blood or a neon sign--a bitch in heat is rare in these areas, and she stands out. Lost, perhaps.
Lost, and alone, and vulnerable. He shudders at the simplicity of it.
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He finds her walking along the bottom of a hill, near the edge of the woods. All svelte and grace; with red fur to match her cunt, she's a pretty little thing. Very little. Suiko guesses she's not a day past her second year.
That means she's new to the game. (Her first heat she would have been tucked safely away at home, with Mommy, and maybe Sister. Not Daddy, though, not safely.)
So here, in her second heat, she's been loosed into the woods to find a mate. Dumped at the edge of the territory with a tight smile, and some useless advice like 'stay away from the gray wolves'. Suiko grins, all teeth and black lips. Once-white fur is gray with age on his body, but above that is a layer of dirt and grime and feathers that he looks more black than anything. Certainly his pelt hides him in the shadows, out of sight of the prey.
Don't want to startle her.
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Light fades fast, even here in the fringe, and soon she slows. She's not tired--heat gives the bitch a certain limitless sort of energy--but she can't see so well. And she's disheartened. Pretty girl like that probably expects to have at least one or two suitors.
His presence wards them off. They may be male, yes, and they may be young and virile, but Suiko has a brute monstrosity to his person that messes with their heads. Maybe they'd call it demonic, unholy. Magic, but it's something that frightens them at a primal level, deeper even than the draw of a bitch in heat.
She stops by a dull puddle in the roots of an ancient oak, a behemoth with roots larger than the bitch herself. Small, dainty laps at the water, with a slim little tongue that curls back into a tight, smooth muzzle. A flop of dark fur falls over her features, and he smirks to himself, reminded of Red Riding Hood. And here he was, the big bad wolf, closing in with the shadows. How utterly appropriate.
He takes a silent step from his cover. She can sense him if he lets her--for now, she drinks the dirty water. Suiko's paws are slim and fall lightly, except for the twisted back one that drags a bit. Once upon a time he could have run with the best of them. He was handsome like the Devil and proud to gaze upon his reflection. Fresh girls and sluts alike would roll at his paws if he deemed it so, and he'd have such utter power over them.
That last bit hasn't changed, but the rest of it has.
(The memories fade.)
This is now.
See me, he commands. Riding Hood lifts her maw, eyes tilting up, fur flopping back. Her beautiful red fur almost seems to shift in one motion along her spine as she bristles at his presence.
He expects a frightened 'hello', some stuttered plea for him to leave her in one piece. Suiko waits. She says nothing, and he senses anger, not fear. He takes that as a challenge.
Hood does try to run when he moves--she can't be that fearless--and she grits her teeth when he clamps his fearsome jaws over her pretty red tail.
For a heartbeat, she floats, hanging in the air, tense and loose all at once. Then a flick of his head sends her back into movement, a violent, horizontal free-fall that ends with her crumpled at the base of a tree. Blood from a torn claw and a bruised muzzle makes her smell all the sweeter.
She looks at him then, really sees him, and she's quiet. Tales of horror and disgust and utter hatred work through her bruised features. No fear. Maybe she is mute.
The bitch's stench, that alluring poison of her heat, still pulls at him. It was a gift, perhaps, at one point; now it is her curse. Suiko allows his sheath to part, the slit sagging and stretching as his flesh responds. Things aren't as tight as they used to be, but they still work.
Before, she had suspected his intent; now she knows it, and he sees a flicker in her eyes that says she's afraid. His shaft twitches, still pulsing its way out towards her. He's thick and heavy and not build for pretty little bits like her, and she knows this too.
He watches as she moves to her feet. One hind leg quivers every few seconds, and he notices some scrapes on her haunch. Blood, sex, fear, and pain. He can almost taste it, a warm fizzing of copper and feminine musk on his dark tongue. He licks his lips. Ready.
She struggles against him--it's really the thought that counts--and he overpowers her with a deep growl. A warning. He nibbles on one of the bitch's red ears, leaving small scratches, to distract her. She tries to pull her head back, and walks right back into his hip.
A quick move. Him on his hind legs, her trying to move forward. Suiko drops onto her back and nearly knocks her down. Her weak leg trembles against his groin and his arousal intesifies. His shaft probes at her backside, hard and broad, like a mole might search for food.
No use for that hole, not this girl, so he guides himself lower. She writhes into the thick mess of his chest, craning her neck..She'll try to bite him but she won't be able to--they never can, not quite, without breaking their necks.
A warm, damp touch on the head of him. He's found the right entrance. A treasure indeed. She's not wet and she's not ready but he presses in two, three, four inches anyways. Her weak little barrier is broken before she can fight, a few hot drops of blood to smooth the way.
Suiko's too big for little Red and he feels the urgent hum of tissue trying to accommodate him, her body molding to his. It takes a while and he doesn't wait. More of him into her, thick shaft pulsing forward into the bitch's tight cunt. Her breath is ragged through her nostrils--her mouth is shut. A drop of blood blooms on her lip; she fights not to cry out.
He could shove everything in right there and make her scream. He knows he could. He wants to. He almost does, but the heat-scent, her curse, stops him. This isn't just another fuck. He doesn't want to leave her in a broken, lifeless pile: a dead bitch can't birth anything, so she has to stay alive.
That's okay. He has other ways of breaking her.
Suiko pulls up a forepaw. More of his bulk on her back. Her shoulders seem to tremor now. His tongue slips from between his fangs to taste the faint dew of exertion. She snorts. Defiance. A heartbeat later he snaps his jaws over her scruff, scissoring loose flesh and long fur in his grip. He catches her pain-smell.
He twists.
A long grunt of frustration and anger and insult from Riding Hood. She gives in, chest lowering to the ground all a-tremble. Her hips angle down, now, and his shaft angles up and pushes against places it has no business being near. A whimper; it hurts her. He smiles.
Drawing his jaws apart, he releases her. Stands of drool and blood trail from tooth to fur. She drops her head to the dirt and he shoves another two inches into her. Her folds are stretched tight around him now, the lips struggling to contain his sheer bulk.
He's maybe halfway. He's twice her size so it makes sense there'snot much room, but it feels uncomfortable, his vulnerable red flesh out in the air like that. He can push a bit more in. Suiko tries, and feels his rounded tip bump into something. It's only a light bump into some fleshy barrier, but she squirms in discomfort. He bumps it again, a soft grunt escaping his lips. This isn't as easy as it once was.
Lifting his hips, he angles himself, prepares to push past it. It's only flesh, and flesh is weak.
In a moment of pure, instinctual self-preservation she yelps and tries to push away. She actually makes it a good foot, dislodging him and stumbling onto her paws.
He moves fast. One thick, heavy paw hits her hip and she trips. He has to be careful, but not too careful. The air is spiked with fear now, fear and sex.
Suiko jumps onto her and buries himself in little Red, hard and fast, not carefully like he should have.
Weak flesh parts to make way for him.
Oops.
Now she screams, delicious spurts of unadulterated terror and pain. His length twitches inside her, the tip dribbling into her womb. He draws in a deep breath. Her parted cervix--what's left of it--is still pressing in, trying to keep him out of her most sacred, cursed alcove. It's tight and it hurts, but pain is pleasure so he doesn't mind it.
She screams into the dirt, and the little drop of blood on her maw is smeared with grit when she lifts her muzzle to howl out her hurt. The night eats up the sound; nobody will hear her. Her screams are for him alone.
Red Hood has a good pair of lungs on her but soon her voice is all used up. His knot swells as her cries die out, and he jams himself in further even though there's no space for him. The base of his shaft, just buried in the very entrance of her cunt, rapidly grows, first in width then in length. Three inches. Four inches. Maybe five, he's never been good with numbers. Maybe five inches forcing her tight little hole into a gaping, torn cave in which he resides. The knot fills out a bit, and he has to fight to keep it from popping out.
When it's full she starts to cry quietly, salty tears on her filthy face. Suiko leans over her with ease and runs his dark tongue over her face, dirt and blood and tears that taste so good. She doesn't fight. It's almost disappointing.
His climax is nothing special; his cock twists a bit and swells and spurts a few times. Her womb is small and almost seems to fill up. He can feel the bitch's own fluids hot on his length; perhaps it's some sort of defense mechanism, her body trying to save itself by accommodating him.
He shift a bit over her almost-broken form, eying her stomach. There's a faint swell at her core. He appreciates the accommodation.
His seed slows briefly to a trickle, and then stops. Physical climax complete. The real treat is long past--for him, her falling to the ground, that scream, had been the real reward. In a few months, though, he might receive something better. Patience is a virtue; if he waits, there might be a cub or two in it for him. The thought alone keeps him lodged in her, hard and knotted, for a while longer.
Red passes out sometimes during his fantasizing (prophesising). He waits for his shaft to soften somewhat and carelessly jerks his knot free. He pulls his shaft out slowly, delighted at the way her opening remains gaped and airy. A brownish mixture of fluids dribble off his shaft as it retreats to its sheath.
A step back, to admire his work. It doesn't look like much. A ruined female passed out with her rump in the air, her 'treasure' torn open, displayed for all to see. A steady stream of red and white winds its way down one leg, and he imagines what it tastes like. Soon it will cake up, and her folds will pucker into bulbous brownish lumps, tender and bruised. But as surely as she still draws breath, he knows she will heal enough for his purposes. The birth will hurt, maybe kill her--reopen all those wounds--and the thought draws a twisted grin from the big wolf.
Two months and one half. He will have his take-home prize then.
He leaves the vessel broken and alone in the old oak's roots.
He will return.