wayfarers_lodge (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wayfarers_lodge) wrote2006-09-10 05:19 pm
wayfarers_lodge) wrote2006-09-10 05:19 pm
{Rosethorn} Would you offer your throat to the wolf?
OOC I know there's no mention of such things, nor any mechanics, but I thought a Rut idea would be just cool, especially for Thyrsus, and this scene was just too good to pass up.
Rosethorn's fingernails gouged into the wood of the desk, and her breath rasped in her throat as she sobbed with the need of the rut. Her heart pounded as every scent teased her, every touch sending shivers through her overly-sensetized skin.
"It doesn't happen often, praise be."
Fiacre had been very straightforward as he had taught Rosie and Crane about the rut- he always was with such things. It had been a relief to go through the finer points of Thyrsus sex education with someone who could look you in the eye and not blush while explaining.
"The folk I was taught by called it the rut, and I haven't come up with anything better. Basically, it's a need- to hunt, to run, to fight, to mate- and it is very, very hard to deny it for any length of time, let alone at all."
"But it can be suppressed through the Life Arcanum, can't it?" Crane had asked that day, and looked a little surprised when Fiacre shook his head.
"No. Well, not really. It can be pushed away, but it cannot be diffused through our connection to the Tower- the theory is it comes from the Primal Wild, so the magic born there has no permanent effect on it. Even worse, the pushing is only temporary- it will come back, and it will come back stronger. You can only ride it out or succumb to it, and usually, riding it out isn't worth it."
The tide of wanting washed over her again, and she pushed herself away from the desk explosively, words fuzzing in her head, sense giving way to the animal that yearned to breathe in the night air again.
A need- to hunt, to run, to fight, to mate... succumb to it... riding it out isn't worth it...
She growled softly as she tore the sapphire ring from her finger and flung it to the floor, the only thing chaining her gone. Free at last, she moved with a deadly, animal grace to shower and prepare for the hunt.
She bathed and preened, marking herself with scented oils and ritual powders and paints, dressing to enhance her most tempting features. Many hours of grooming later, she looked in the mirror and smiled sharply- even in her half-starved state, she looked devastating, a wolf that made her prey want to be eaten, a sexual predator of the highest order. The need had changed, sharpened to a single point, a focus, sated for now with the promise of soon. It shaped her, moulded her, until her lips promised pleasure and cruelty, and her eyes spoke of passion and torment.
She stalked through her favoured hunting ground, smiling carefully at the welcomes and familiar faces, watching all the young, pretty girls like prey. She stayed near the bar, meeting the eyes of anyone who looked at her with a flash of challenge, buying drinks and dismissing them as suitable one by one.
Then she entered. A tender, beautiful little thing, eyes shining with life, the light bouncing off golden curls. She smiled triumphantly as the girl approached the bar, and leaned over, letting the subtle pheremones in her magic do their work.
"Hello, blossom. I'm Rosie. What's your name?"
The girl blinked in surprise for a moment, before her eyes glazed with the desire that flooded her senses.
"Samantha. Sammie."
"Hello, Sammie," she purred. "Do you mind if I buy you a drink?"
The girl shook her head, lips parted, as she went willingly into the wolf's den.
Rosethorn wove the spell of temptation easily as she seduced the girl. A light touch on a bare arm, a turn or two of suggestive dancing, a moment of eye contact held too long, and Samantha was a quivering mess, begging this stranger to come back to her flat, to do something, anything to her.
They barely got through the door before she was on her prey, tongue gently teasing the girl's mouth and throat, hands stroking and caressing the soft skin, head delighting in the girl's moans and trembling cries. She revelled in the power she had as she slowly peeled away Sammie's clothes, nipping and kissing each newly exposed piece of flesh, letting her magic heighten the girl's sense of satisfaction.
The taste of her prey's skin crackled through her body, stoking the fires and making her breath catch in her throat as she lowered her mouth and began her work in earnest. Her nerves sang with every cry she paid for with pleasure, every twitch that hummed through the girl's body. The need rattled with in her, shook her to her very core as it becamse tainted with something else, something darker.
It's not her.
She wasn't aware as the gentle yet insistent hands that held the Sleeper girl curled into talons, nails biting into the flesh. She didn't notice as the cries spiralled down from simple pleasure into hoarse, pained torment. She did, however, feel the magic twisting under her will as she held her prey at the brink of climax and snarled within herself, cursing Samantha for not being the woman she wanted.
The begging, aching cries filled her, satisfied something deep within her, until eventually she stopped the spell and let the girl fall back to earth. The rut sated, she looked upon her prey as she closed her eyes with exhaustion and slept.
The bright gold curls that had glinted so were plastered to her head with sweat. The lines on Samatha's face spoke of the exquisite torture she had undergone, and her eyes leaked with the remnants of tears. Rosethorn stared for a horrified moment as what she had done dawned fully upon her, and she turned and fled.
She found herself a taxi back to her building, and after what felt like forever stumbled into her apartment. She turned on the shower full blast, and started removing her clothes with shaking hands, not caring if they tore- she would never wear them again.
Something glinted on the floor, and she bent to pick it up. She let out a low cry of despair as she realised what it was. A sapphire ring, mounted in white gold, a broken promise.
She kissed the ring softly as she stepped into the shower, begging it in shuddering breaths to forgive her for what she had done, and slipped it back onto the fourth finger of her left hand as she wept.
Rosethorn's fingernails gouged into the wood of the desk, and her breath rasped in her throat as she sobbed with the need of the rut. Her heart pounded as every scent teased her, every touch sending shivers through her overly-sensetized skin.
"It doesn't happen often, praise be."
Fiacre had been very straightforward as he had taught Rosie and Crane about the rut- he always was with such things. It had been a relief to go through the finer points of Thyrsus sex education with someone who could look you in the eye and not blush while explaining.
"The folk I was taught by called it the rut, and I haven't come up with anything better. Basically, it's a need- to hunt, to run, to fight, to mate- and it is very, very hard to deny it for any length of time, let alone at all."
"But it can be suppressed through the Life Arcanum, can't it?" Crane had asked that day, and looked a little surprised when Fiacre shook his head.
"No. Well, not really. It can be pushed away, but it cannot be diffused through our connection to the Tower- the theory is it comes from the Primal Wild, so the magic born there has no permanent effect on it. Even worse, the pushing is only temporary- it will come back, and it will come back stronger. You can only ride it out or succumb to it, and usually, riding it out isn't worth it."
The tide of wanting washed over her again, and she pushed herself away from the desk explosively, words fuzzing in her head, sense giving way to the animal that yearned to breathe in the night air again.
A need- to hunt, to run, to fight, to mate... succumb to it... riding it out isn't worth it...
She growled softly as she tore the sapphire ring from her finger and flung it to the floor, the only thing chaining her gone. Free at last, she moved with a deadly, animal grace to shower and prepare for the hunt.
She bathed and preened, marking herself with scented oils and ritual powders and paints, dressing to enhance her most tempting features. Many hours of grooming later, she looked in the mirror and smiled sharply- even in her half-starved state, she looked devastating, a wolf that made her prey want to be eaten, a sexual predator of the highest order. The need had changed, sharpened to a single point, a focus, sated for now with the promise of soon. It shaped her, moulded her, until her lips promised pleasure and cruelty, and her eyes spoke of passion and torment.
She stalked through her favoured hunting ground, smiling carefully at the welcomes and familiar faces, watching all the young, pretty girls like prey. She stayed near the bar, meeting the eyes of anyone who looked at her with a flash of challenge, buying drinks and dismissing them as suitable one by one.
Then she entered. A tender, beautiful little thing, eyes shining with life, the light bouncing off golden curls. She smiled triumphantly as the girl approached the bar, and leaned over, letting the subtle pheremones in her magic do their work.
"Hello, blossom. I'm Rosie. What's your name?"
The girl blinked in surprise for a moment, before her eyes glazed with the desire that flooded her senses.
"Samantha. Sammie."
"Hello, Sammie," she purred. "Do you mind if I buy you a drink?"
The girl shook her head, lips parted, as she went willingly into the wolf's den.
Rosethorn wove the spell of temptation easily as she seduced the girl. A light touch on a bare arm, a turn or two of suggestive dancing, a moment of eye contact held too long, and Samantha was a quivering mess, begging this stranger to come back to her flat, to do something, anything to her.
They barely got through the door before she was on her prey, tongue gently teasing the girl's mouth and throat, hands stroking and caressing the soft skin, head delighting in the girl's moans and trembling cries. She revelled in the power she had as she slowly peeled away Sammie's clothes, nipping and kissing each newly exposed piece of flesh, letting her magic heighten the girl's sense of satisfaction.
The taste of her prey's skin crackled through her body, stoking the fires and making her breath catch in her throat as she lowered her mouth and began her work in earnest. Her nerves sang with every cry she paid for with pleasure, every twitch that hummed through the girl's body. The need rattled with in her, shook her to her very core as it becamse tainted with something else, something darker.
It's not her.
She wasn't aware as the gentle yet insistent hands that held the Sleeper girl curled into talons, nails biting into the flesh. She didn't notice as the cries spiralled down from simple pleasure into hoarse, pained torment. She did, however, feel the magic twisting under her will as she held her prey at the brink of climax and snarled within herself, cursing Samantha for not being the woman she wanted.
The begging, aching cries filled her, satisfied something deep within her, until eventually she stopped the spell and let the girl fall back to earth. The rut sated, she looked upon her prey as she closed her eyes with exhaustion and slept.
The bright gold curls that had glinted so were plastered to her head with sweat. The lines on Samatha's face spoke of the exquisite torture she had undergone, and her eyes leaked with the remnants of tears. Rosethorn stared for a horrified moment as what she had done dawned fully upon her, and she turned and fled.
She found herself a taxi back to her building, and after what felt like forever stumbled into her apartment. She turned on the shower full blast, and started removing her clothes with shaking hands, not caring if they tore- she would never wear them again.
Something glinted on the floor, and she bent to pick it up. She let out a low cry of despair as she realised what it was. A sapphire ring, mounted in white gold, a broken promise.
She kissed the ring softly as she stepped into the shower, begging it in shuddering breaths to forgive her for what she had done, and slipped it back onto the fourth finger of her left hand as she wept.
no subject
Wait...that term transferred to nWod? Or are you playing a troup/tabletop oWoD game?
no subject
I may be frelling my terms around a little, but it fitsa
=^..^-