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Iron Author

Torture (sexual)

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Abusive Pleasure

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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The malamute towered over the human male, though he didn't do himself any favours for how he quailed before her, sinking into the foot of the sofa as if he willed to crawl beneath it. There wasn't enough space for him there, of course, for he was not an animal, but he was a man who very sorely wished that he had not called a malamute anthro, as burly and buff as she was, a husky at a party a long, long time ago.

“Little man…"

Danger laced her tone, throbbing and pulsing like the beat of a prey animal that had been backed into a corner. Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum, too quick, too quickly. He was that creature, trapped and cornered, although it was all his fault, all Harris' fault for the fact that he had been stupid enough to give the malamute with a vendetta against him his address in the first place. That was the only reason that she'd been able to find his home, the little flat that he called his own, although the thickly muscular malamute, the shape of her muscles showing easily through her thinning coat of fluff, seemed to make it even smaller than it already was, she simply took up that much space.

It was some distance for her to lean down to his level but she did it fluidly, her chunky body folding forward, though her breasts swelled into something that could have been a sports bra, something that could be worn as a single layer when working out. It was quite clear, of course, that she worked out, but he had never had the chance to ask her about that, for she was always the one who was pinning him down, forcing his hand, forcing his attention on her, even pummelling him with her fists as if he was nothing more than a punching bag for her.

Harris shuddered, his hair in his eyes, needing a trim even though he usually kept it quite short. The brown strands, however, were his downfall as Cupun, the malamute, easily wound her fingers into his hair in a coarse twist, yanking him to his feet with a raw, throaty growl.

“You wanted this… Stupid man."

What that even meant was not something that he could come to terms with, not even in the throbbing heat of the moment, her fist sinking into his stomach as he doubled over, thrown on the floor, the lampshade swinging above them as Cupun knocked it with her head. Light and shadow flirted with one another in a sultry dance but there was nothing seductive about the way she powered over him, pressing the offence as she snarled, dark lips curling back from her teeth to show off an impressive set of fangs, gleaming with a sheen of saliva.

A kick. He twisted away but it still connected with his hip, making him howl, her huge, bare paws more fearsome than a foot by all means. Everything about her bragged raw power and all he could do was curl up away from it and pray that it would all come to an end, the malamute snarling and twisting his arm behind his back, to all intents and purposes ignoring his yelp of evident pain. She was used to causing him pain, after all.

Her paw closed over his mouth, shoving him down over the arm of the sofa, a cruel laugh chortling up from the back of her throat. Yet she did not say anything to go along with that, yanking down Harris' jeans and exposing his back, claws easily tearing through the fabric of his clothes, which he had thought were at least some kind of reasonable quality as if they posed no barrier at all to her lust. Of course, they did nothing to hold her back as a growl ripped through her, the puny, pathetic body of the man before her quailing and shivering away, such a weak-willed specimen for her to take out her violent lusts on.

She didn't care if the neighbours called the cops as he screamed, landing on his back as she threw him again, showing off just how light he was to her, how she could do anything she wanted to him and not even break a sweat. His bodily aches and pains – hell, she'd even put him in the hospital before – were nothing to her, just as he was nothing to her, nothing more than a vessel into which to pour her frustrations.

Naked bar the shreds of cloth still hanging hopefully from his frame, Harris scrambled away but even he knew that it was no good as she pressed the pursuit, kicking the living room door closed and laughing in his face. Her paw closed around his throat, hefting him up bodily, as much as he gasped and clawed at her arm, trying with the desperation of a man who had suddenly had his air supply cut off to get her to release him through any means possible.

Kicking, hitting – what could he do? His struggles fell weaker and weaker, the pressure on his windpipe growing more and more with every passing second. There were no minutes left for him, only seconds, his vision shivering, greying out, the rake of the malamute's claws down his front barely noticeable to his active mind, although his body did respond with a shudder and a jerk. It was funny how the mind and the body could disconnect like that but it was perhaps the only thing that stopped Harris from blacking out completely, the ghost of a groan rattling from his throat.

She might have laughed or she might not have: he was not with himself in body or mind enough care or even know right then and there. All he knew was that he was flat on his back on the floor again, gasping for air that was only, yet again, destined to be cut off as her huge hind paw came down on his throat, so very easily dominating him that she may as well have simply been taking a single step. But they both knew that that was not true. No… Every single thing that Cupun did was far more than merely deliberate but twisted through with malicious lust, the heat and adrenaline flooding her body not solely from violence alone.

There was a darker thrill to all she did, raking her claws over him again, even rumbling a growl as she marked the human as hers. Harris trembled, head rolling back, seeing his living room upside down, though the angle was far from fresh as cloying dust filled his nose, twisting back and forth weakly, imagining that he was kicking out. But what his mind thought was the thud of impact was only her pummelling his legs and striking his guts all over again, bruises springing to thickening, purplish life all across his form in testament to how paper-thin his skin was and, of course, the strength of her blows.

Yet he did not complain. Harris trembled. He could not complain. That would only make it worse. That would make the throbbing need inside him go away, being at her hind paws the best and the worst thing in the whole world at the same time, though not even that was something that Harris knew any answer to. Where it did not make sense it made perfect sense to him, bile rising thickly in the back of his throat as she jammed her heel into his stomach and twisted viciously.

Blood dripped down his front, the scratches and scrapes that he found there light but fresh, enough to bring a rise of crimson to his chest and stomach. Pressing his hand to them, he didn't know what had happened but it was not as if Cupun was going to give him a fair chance to inspect the marks she'd left on him, snarling out a coarse sort of laugh as she shoved him onto all fours, her fingers closing over his backside, easily dwarfing him.

Harris could never have been ready for her fingers to shove their way up into his backside but he was so much less than ready that time, clawing at the carpet in a futile, weak-willed effort to drag himself away. Her fingers drove deep without lube – as if he could have expected that! His cock may or may not have been responding but he was hardly with himself in mind enough to care, pain lancing through him as he was brutally spread open. His arse gaped and yawned and strained around her fingers as she forced them deeper and deeper and deeper through the art of brute strength alone.

Nothing about his body would stop Cupun from taking what she needed, grinding her paw into him, fisting him like he was a puppet for her amusement. He howled breathlessly, though he was all but limp on her paw, helplessly and flopping, something building inside him, the pressure rising. Yet she was not about to take “no" for any kind of answer, doubling up on her abuse as she closed both his cock and balls in one giant paw, a toothy smirk slashed across her muzzle as her eyes darkened with vindictive cruelty.

“Mine…"

The word rolled over him and he was ashamed to feel his cock throb, though the squeeze of her paw was too much at that time to be any kind of pleasurable. Regardless of that, it was a relief, in a way, to know that what he wanted no longer mattered as he rocked and grunted, twisting, panting, trying to bear through the pain through any means possible. That was the only way that he'd be able to make it end, body aching with pain, a lingering soreness that would go on for weeks. He would not have been at all surprised to find that she'd broken his arm or a few of his ribs, at least a sprain somewhere, but the devastation she was doing to his anal passage was the main event, his glutes weakening while the ability to clench down was stripped entirely from him.

Quietly… He grunted, tucking his chin down to his chest, twisting back and forth, his skin painted with a gleam of sweat. She pounded his backside in rhythm with her paw gripping his cock but that was only through pure coincidence alone as the malamute by no means was trying to give him any kind of pleasure at all. No, it was all for her, always for her, squeezing his nuts, claws biting in until he could not help but let out a strangled, throaty sort of yell that should never have come from the lips of any man.

Her howl of delight as he broke, something in him forcing him to orgasm, though it was a weak kind of milked-out one, something that didn't come with any pleasure at all or a sense of relief, was devious on the ears. Cupun leaned over him, a smirk on her muzzle, taking in every last moment of his debasement as he submitted to her through the will of pain alone, though he knew that he had no hope of getting it to stop, no matter what he did.

Her paw moved, her arm inside him, pumping and grinding up deeply, not caring for any comfort that he may have preferred if it could have, possibly, been done gently. “Gently" wasn't a word used with Cupun: ever.

Yet her fist connecting with his face as she twisted and turned him about to face her (all the better for her abuse) was a stark reminder of reality and the power differential that would always exist between them. It was as it was supposed to be as he was batted around, her living toy, though Harris almost doubted that he would be living for all that much longer if she continued to treat him so roughly.

He groaned, a whisper of breath escaping his lips as, blissfully at last, he slipped into unconsciousness. One thought, however, lingered in his mind to scorn his abuse-filled nightmares, chilling fear into him like nothing else could.

There was no escaping her now that she knew where he lived.