They named her Liath - "grey", in the language of their conquerors. And they taught her the law of their new land, and the joys of freedom and prosperity. 

To her, the stories of her parents' home were just that - stories. She had never known the place of her ancestry. And so she did not know enough to know what she had lost, not fully. 

There were rumors, at her school, about the winged girl with the spade-tipped tail; but the empire was large, and there were ever so many different kinds of people in it. 

She was still cruel, at times, in retaliation and in the callous way that children can be; but she was a good student, and listened well to her parents' examples and those of her teachers. She never had to be corrected more than once.

Eventually, though, she grew up. And no-one on Arcbright knew what that meant, for demons, not even her mother and father. 

She grew beautiful, first. Toned and curvy and with a full and buxom figure. There was succubus in her ancestry, one of the old duchesses of Lust; and on the other side, a baron of Wrath. And so she gained in strength and beauty together, intertwining. 

It was when she was sixteen that her black nails hardened into claws, and her tail became dark and serrated. It started to twitch and move with a mind of its own, following some darker, subconcious urge. 

When a boy slighted her in thaumics class - it was such a small slight, an inflection in the wrong place, sarcasm when he called her the best mage in the class - her tail lashed out, and cut three grooves across his cheek. 

Her parents were furious.

When they were told it had happened without her wishing it, they became scared. 

A solution was sought; control exercises. Training with her new limb, to practice using it with her concious mind and not her instincts. To temper her. To refine her.

And so she trained. Oh, how she trained. She was a perfect student. She was so good at learning. 

But every day it got worse. She began to have visions. Fantasies. The wish to tear at skin with her nails, all tangled up with the desire to kiss. Her tail lashing out. Blood against the school's tiles. Destroying the practice targets her parents got her helped, but not enough. Not enough. 

She wanted to hurt something that would suffer for it. 

She told her parents so.

Her parents had learned control looking down the barrel of the OTC's guns. 

They told her it was unacceptable to want to harm another. They told her she was just like the old demons. The bad demons. The kind they had left Cthonia to be free of. 

They doubled her control exercises.

And so she learned. 

She learned control, over the sound of screaming in her dreams. Over the fantasies of blood and gritted teeth and hurt. 

Eventually she began to dig her claws into her own forearms, just to feel something hurt. Even if it was herself. Even if it wasn't the same. 

It was perverse. The fantasies only redoubled when she liked someone. Caring only seemed to make her want to see someone suffer more. 

It was impossible. 

So she locked it away. 

It got easier, after a while. She found her first love, with the girl from her class who enjoyed her teasing most; and cautiously, they began to cuddle and kiss. 

It was good. It was so good. The fantasies got worse whenever she was with her but that didn't matter, she cared, she loved her, she was beautiful -

Until one day, Liath went in for a kiss, and her lips burnt her girlfriend to the touch. 

Her girlfriend left her, over that. 

And her parents told her it was her fault. 

And she knew that it was true. 

She threw herself back into the control exercises, and chose not to love again.

Eventually - very eventually - she graduated from college, and moved out.

And then it was just her, in a small apartment, out in Arcbright. 

Her and her fantasies.

She knew by now that it was wrong to hurt people. 

She had had that drilled into her again and again and again. 

But the fantasies wouldn't go away. 

So she kissed her own wrist with her branding lips; and cut at her skin with her claws; and hid, and hurt, and did her best to be the person she wanted to be in her heart of hearts. A person who didn't want to hurt people. A person who was okay. 

It didn't work.

And her parents were no longer there to watch her. 

And there was a very large internet available. 

"Hello, would you like a hard drive full of torture pornography?", said the internet.

And Liath said, "No thank you but I'll save this one particular story." 

"Would you like to PM the author?" Asked the internet.

"You know what?" Said Liath. "I think I would."

Dear Palmbrand666: 

I'm a... fan of your recent work, particularly the scene with the shock prod. Having Silvia laugh and delight in it so much was... terrifyingly hot. Where do you get all your ideas for these scenes? I've had similar fantasies all my life, but... I know they're far too extreme for reality.

To: ClawsThatCatch

The scenes in my work are largely based on real encounters I've had in the Rose Bowers - with the serial numbers filed off, of course. Experimenting with people is something I deeply enjoy, and exploring the different kinds of pain I can inflict matters a lot to me. I'm really glad the series landed so well with you. Who knows, maybe someday you can experiment yourself! 

WHAT

PEOPLE DO THAT? 

- okay, hold on just a fucking second - 

To: Palmbrand666

People let you do that to them???????

To: ClawsThatCatch

Yeah! in controlled conditions ofc

you must be really new to the community if you don't even know that. Have you ever heard of the rose bowers before?

To: Palmbrand666

No, never. What is it? 

to: ClawsThatCatch

Google it, lol. 

She Googles it. 

There is a brochure. It would be glossy, if it had been printed; it shows sweeping terraced gardens. The overlaid font is an elegant cursive. 

The Rose Bowers

Welcome to the Origin Trade Consortium's premier clothing-optional resort. For anyone interested in pursuing romance, sexuality, or simple luxury, the Rose Bowers has it on offer, in a multitude of shapes and forms. From the Rosethorn Hotel's manicured grounds and structured activities to the bustling nightlife of Terra-luna City, this resort world provides all at a very reasonable up-front price. Whether you come alone, with friends, or with a partner or partners, you're guaranteed to have an enjoyable and edifying stay thanks to the latest in state-of-the-art fateweaving. 

On the inside of the brochure, a nude woman reclines on a vinyl chaise-lounge, her back to the camera as she looks over her shoulder. There is a table of prices beneath. 

... She winces at the prices. If it's as Palmbrand666 claims, it would be worth saving up for, but... She can't see any indication on this brochure of what actually goes on. It all seems very tasteful. And while on one hand she's grateful for that, the vagueness of the brochure is maddening. 

To Palmbrand666: 

I found their flyer. Looks expensive. They don't mention anything about torture though??? It looks super boring honestly, hard to believe it's the same place

To: ClawsThatCatch

Oh, yeah, they put that out to catch all the normies who wouldn't go otherwise

you want the black/pink brochures not the rose one 

She googles again, more focusedly this time.

There is a pink brochure with gold cursive lettering on it. It has an image of a soft pink collar on it, lying on a red-sheeted bed. 

Welcome to the Rose Bowers, your first step into your sexuality. Whether you're a virgin, new to kink in general or merely to one experience in particular, the Rose Bowers is where you will find experienced partners and staff to mentor you, as well as peers in your new experience to share your discoveries with. Join an accepting, welcoming environment under the expert tutelage of sex educators, courtesans, and therapists, and unlock the joy of a healthy, whole and hearty sexual life. Discounted packages are available to disadvantaged applicants. 

The inner side has the same table of prices, with a few additional entries for discounts - apparently she qualifies for 10% off simply because she is a virgin. The inner image is a simple heart rendered in calligraphy. 

No matter your background, tastes or fantasies, you are welcome at the Rose Bowers, and are sure to find someone just as deeply invested as yourself among our many millions of daily visitors. Through fateweaving systems, we'll find a perfect match for your experience and skill level, and guide you through the process of unlocking the sexually confident and self-knowing person you could be. 

There is more verbiage, about the various safety, privacy and contraception assurances the Bowers offers via their warding systems. 

That... 

Well. She's never had a relationship before. (The girl she burned doesn't count.) 

She doesn't really care about losing her virginity, though. It troubles her, a little. Rarely. But she can masturbate.

She doesn't need anyone. 

She doesn't want this. 

... still, worth reading the brochure. 

On to the next one.

The last brochure is black, and bears red cursive letters, stark against the background. A bowl of blackberries sits on the cover, sitting in their own juices. The liquid pools viscously, clinging, half-dried and sticky. 

For some reason she feels hot, looking at that. It reminds her... 

It reminds her of blood. 

She takes a breath and goes down to the white text below it. 

Welcome to the Blackberry Gardens. 

Within the Rose Bowers Resort, there is a dedicated play space specifically for no-consequences fatewoven play between consenting participants. In other words: If you have fantasized about it, you can do it here, without asking, without flinching, without turning away. You can flow into the motion of your desires as much or as little as you want. All physical damage done is reversed by state of the art Grace warding tech, and mental and emotional harm is prevented by advanced fateweaving. If a scene would cause permanent harm, it never happens. Period.

Liath fumbles open the brochure, and reveals a table with a whip, a flogger, a branding iron, and a cattle prod laid out, along with a coil of rope. Her gaze is drawn across to the text in the left-hand column. 

You may choose to work up to this experience with the assistance of coaches, counsellors and courtesans, or you may plunge in directly. There is no wrong way to use the Blackberry Gardens. Whatever your fantasy is, we will provide the tools and participants necessary to provide it - in extremis, the Goddess Sunaira herself. 

Whatsoever you desire, the Blackberry Gardens will allow you to have it safely and consensually.

That... is pretty damn clear. 

But does she want it? 

She digs her right hand's nails into her left arm, the habit of thought that comes so easily to her now. 

... Yes. 

Yes, she wants that. Even at this exorbitant price. And yes, she'll take the 10% virginity discount. 

To Palmbrand666: 

I looked at the flyers. The black one convinced me. I guess I'll have to save up. Thanks for your help.

To ClawsThatCatch: 

glgl! if you make it DM me about it

To Palmbrand666: 

Will do. Thanks again.

In the meantime, there is work to do. Her life won't stop for her; and she's just graduated college. 

Time passes. 

Gradually, she acquires a small library of fantasies that she returns to again and again. Wishing. Wondering. Hoping against hope that someone could want it. 

She meets a few sadists casually online, but their desires seem pale and weak compared to hers. Who cares about whips. Who cares about canes. What use is a flogger anyway? 

She wants to dig her claws into willing flesh and rip. To bury her serrated tail somewhere very sensitive. To maul someone, really and truly, to break their spirit, to see them suffer.

She wants more. 

To ClawsThatCatch:

Hey

I saw your fic you posted 

someone's into branding, huh? nice nice 

did you get that from me? you love the Silvia series, yeah? and I know that's got a lot of that in it 

To Palmbrand666:

Actually I did that in the other order. I loved the series because it had so much branding in it. So many of the other fics I saw just... don't get the appeal I guess? But I've always wanted to be able to kiss someone and have them enjoy it 

Wait, fuck - 

To: ClawsThatCatch 

You have a problem with that, hot lips? 

To: Palmbrand666

uh yeah actually I do

I'm, uh. I'm from Cthonia. It's like a demon bloodline thing. I don't know why it happens. 

To: ClawsThatCatch

Huh. I'm from Cthonia too actually. I'm there right now. Doing demon shit. 

hope you don't mind a lot of my fans get mad when they find out

To: Palmbrand666

No actually that's fine! I, uh, I also am a demon. Though I was raised on Arcbright. I don't know what... it's like where my parents came from, they don't talk about it. They took political asylum because they were formerly enslaved. 

To: ClawsThatCatch

Oof. Yeah, uh, my family was deposed and now my parents are serving centurylong sentences.

To: Palmbrand666

Oh. 

I'm sorry. 

To: ClawsThatCatch 

I'm lucky they're alive, honestly. At least this way I still get phone calls now and then. 

My auntie - well, she was a nurse under my parents, they employed her, but she's my aunt now - got custody of me and basically raised me 

it's been hard. I write to cope.

To: Palmbrand666

My parents... were very big on control exercises. They wanted to make sure I'd fit into human society. It was hard, at first. And the wanting to hurt people never really went away. Sometimes I wanted to hurt them for it. 

To ClawsThatCatch: 

Do I look like I wanted to hear about how your life has been hard? 

To: Palmbrand666

Sorry. I... yeah. 

Thank you for the stories anyway. They help.

To ClawsThatCatch: 

I try not to imagine hurting the people who did this to my family. They're monsters. My family, I mean. Everyone says so. Even my Auntie says so. She wouldn't understand if I told her I understood them. 

If I can forgive them, I can forgive you too.

To: Palmbrand666

Thank you. 

Do you think we're like them? 

To: ClawsThatCatch

I've thought about that a lot. And I think we have something they don't. 

The difference between hurting and harming, if you know what I mean.

To: Palmbrand666

I don't. What do you mean? 

To: ClawsThatCatch

People can want to be hurt and that's okay. Pain is just a signal. It's when people suffer that it's bad. Does that... does that make any sense?

To: Palmbrand666

What if I want people to suffer?

To: ClawsThatCatch

I think you're confused, there. Different meaning of suffer maybe. I don't know. This is hard.

To: Palmbrand666

Yeah, it really is.

Palmbrand666 doesn't reply back.

She goes back to her job. Work wears, but at least she's making money. It won't be so long before she can afford even the Bowers' price. 

Eventually, her savings are large enough to support the trip. 

To: Palmbrand666

I've got enough together to visit the Bowers, now. Should I take the plunge?

To: ClawsThatCatch

Yeah, you should. There's an argument that you should practice first, but... The Bowers is pretty decent at giving you a crash course into stuff. 

GLHF

She googles the acronym. 

"Good luck, have fun", huh? Well, she'll try. 

The circle station near her apartment is quiet, but it'll take her to the Rose Bowers just like any other one. 

To: Palmbrand666

Thanks. For everything.

She takes a week's paid time off from her job.

Even then, the day comes faster than she expects. 

The local circle station is dead quiet at 6 AM. Only locals come here, and everyone else is asleep.

She wishes distantly that she had someone to say goodbye to. 

She pulls her phone from her black leather purse, and taps it against the turnstile before the teleportation circle. 

It beeps, and she's let through. 

She walks onwards, her short, everyday heels clicking against the tile floor. 

The glass of the building around her is lit with fairylights, glowing golden orbs that hover just above head height. 

The circle warms up with a low hum, light cascading through the etched runes.

She steps over the border of runes, and waits.

There's a moment of transition, and she's -

In a darknened wood, brambles all around her. Luminescent moss clings to the trees, lending a little light. 

A small table nestles into a tree trunk in front of her, just large enough to hold an envelope and two wooden bowls. 

The envelope is black, and stamped with a rose design; the left bowl is piled high with strawberries, while the right bowl is piled high with blackberries.

She looks around. This... was not at all what she was expecting.

Something small skitters through the underbrush. A crow caws distantly. 

A single dull red fairylight appears over the table.

She steps forwards and picks up the envelope, slitting it open with one claw.

There's a letter inside. On parchment. The ink is a dull brown that looks like dried blood, but is perfectly readable. 

Liath of the Lines of Lust and Wrath: 

A sacrifice has been prepared for you in the woods beyond. 

It is your privilege to accept or to reject that sacrifice. 

If you do not accept this sacrifice, she will go to another much like yourself, save perhaps even more skilled in inflicting torment. You prevent no harm by refusing. 

If you accept, you will be bound by a compact; such that, while you are within the inner woods, they will respond to your call, and aid you. However, for anything that is given, there is also a price. That price may or may not be exacted from you. 

Eat a blackberry to seal our agreement, or else eat a strawberry, and be gone from this place.

Your Obedient Slave, 

Madeline Selveria

There is a rose seal at the end; and merely by looking at it, she knows that all this is true and endorsed by the Bowers, that it will be safe for everyone involved, and that she is truly free to choose. 

She takes a slow breath. Her pulse rushes in her ears. 

... Well, then, if that's how the Bowers wants to play it. She'll accept the price, whatever it is. 

She knows this is foolish, but she has to try anyway. 

She picks up a blackberry, puts it into her mouth, and bites down.

It bursts in her mouth.

It tastes like blood should taste. Deep, rich umami sweetness, with just enough of an edge of copper to feel real.

The juices spill down her chin, stain her sweater. There's a burning sensation all across her body, a flare of pain and then rightness, warmth, an eager thrum of power - 

The heat concentrates on her right wrist, and burns an imprint of a blackberry with a bolt of pain and a sickening sizzle. She's been marked, forever and ever. 

It fades from her skin in a few moments, like it was never there. But she knows. It's just lying beneath the surface. 

The contract is sealed.

Liath grabs her wrist with a hiss of pain, and drops the letter - but it's not an unfamiliar hurt. Her lips feel like this. 

There's something right about it. Being claimed. The Bowers is making no bones about their relationship. 

She's in its power now. 

Blood wells up from where the letter touches the table, and the tree splits with a crack of protest, like it's been struck by lightning. In the gap where the bark has split, a black dagger inscribed with a rosethorn pattern lies. A ruby gleams in its pommel, as red as blood. 

Liath grabs the dagger from the tree, her hand firm on the leather-wrapped handle. 

It sticks for a moment, but she wrenches it free, and more blood upwells from where it rested. The coppery tang is rich and deep in the air.

As Liath pulls free the dagger, the burning power redoubles, slamming through her. 

Her clothes burn away in a flare of red light, her purse going with them. Only the smell of scorched leather and cotton remains. 

Liath stands completely naked in the forest with the dagger in her hand, and for a moment the fear swells. She's lost in the middle of the darkened woods without even her purse or anything to wear - 

The power in her coils, and says: That way. It feels bloody and vicious. Sadistic glee sparks off it in her mind, embers of anger and strength wicking off it.

The dagger pulls her hand out, towards the way the power calls, and the brand on her wrist twinges.

- If she wasn't going to do this, she would have left already. 

She takes a slow breath, and walks in the direction the dagger calls her. 

Her wings trail out behind her, her serrated tail flicking from side to side uneasily. 

As she walks, the power seems to dig deeper into her. She finds herself feeling... something. Something in the wood. Something in the earth. Something beyond her. Something more than her. 

The black forest lives, and she is stained with its blood and carries its weapon and its brand. She is its instrument. 

She can feel... a heartbeat and a slow breath, distant from her, out among the trees. 

Prey.

Her stride slows, smoothens. The brambles part for her, leaving her skin untouched as she stalks through the underbrush. 

Something in her sings at this. There is something out there. Someone out there. 

And they are in her hunting grounds. 

She stumbles over the thought, for a moment. The power coiling in her makes it so easy to believe it - but still.

Is she really going to do it?

The blade in her hand pulses calm, and rosethorns shift through the leather handle and bite into her palm. 

This is safe, it says. You are free to choose, it says. This is endorsed by the Bowers, it says. 

It steadies her. 

She's already chosen to believe. 

If the Bowers lie - if they choose to make her harm an innocent - then that's on the Bowers and not on her. 

She breaks out into a run. 

There is a path through the dark woods, barely more than a deer track. 

A woman is stumbling along it in a floor-length dress, one hand carrying a pair of heels, one hand pulling up her skirt so that it doesn't catch on low branches and brambles.

In the far distance, Liath can sense the end of her hunting grounds, where the trees close in even further and the luminescent moss ends. It is a dark and cruel place where this woman is going. Darker and crueler than her.

She has time. She can pause. But not forever, not unless she wishes for her sacrifice to escape her.

Liath comes up to the side of a tree, perfectly camouflaged by the woods she is a part of, and watches. 

She can sense her sacrifice's heartbeat, the dove-like pitter patter of uncertainty. 

The woman has long ears, and curving horns. Her silver hair is tied back in a long braid. She wears a diamond pendant around her throat. 

Her dress is patterned with pink begonias, and the heels clutched in her hand are pink. There are scratches on her arms and face, no doubt made by the brambles and rocks of the forest path. 

She's walking as quickly as she can through the dark forest, though her dress and bare feet hobble her. 

... She's also exactly Liath's type. She bears more than a passing resemblance to the girl she crushed on in high school, only the girl she crushed on in high school didn't have horns and would never wear a dress like that. 

Liath turns the dagger over in her hand, and follows, stalking on through the shadows. 

She's silent and invisible in the embrace of the forest. 

There are so many ways this could go. Liath could chase her out into a clearing and bear her to the ground. Liath could have the forest ensnare and bind her. She could step out onto the path and pretend to be friendly until she had her hands on her. She could lay a trap for her further down the path and ambush her from hiding. 

Images play through her mind, and she knows they don't come from the forest, but from herself. 

The stranger bound and spread-eagled on a black stone altar, helpless to resist as Liath tears at her with her claws. 

The stranger forced to the ground and impaled with her serrated tail, gasping out a breathless whine as blood spills from her cunt. 

The stranger caught in the air as Liath trails her fingers along her breasts, pinching ever so lightly. 

The stranger pinned down and cut again and again with the ritual dagger, until her screams give out and Liath is satisfied...

Yes, says the dagger in her hand. Anything you want.

She thinks about it. 

She wants to be able to take her time, but there's something about bearing the stranger to the ground herself that's satisfyingly visceral. 

A chase, then. Ending at an altar. 

The forest gives her a direction to chase her prey. Off the path. Through the trees. There is an old black stone altar deep in that copse of brambles. 

If she makes her sacrifice run, the forest will herd her in.

... She doesn't want this to be the least bit fair. 

She stalks onwards, through the trees, working to get ahead of her prey.

Something snaps in the bushes on the other side of the path, and the sacrifice stares off into the darkness for a moment. 

Liath has time to position herself.

She settles into a crouch by the side of a tree, a little further along the path. There is a screening bush that doesn't catch at her at all, despite her nudity. 

The darkness hides her.

Her prey walks onwards, following the path. Her breathing is shallow, now, her pulse quick with fear.

Liath's hand with the dagger flicks out, and digs into her sacrifice's exposed leg. 

She shrieks, stumbles, drops her heels -

Then gathers up her skirt and tries to run for it. 

Between her injured leg and her dress, she's not able to run very fast.

As Liath's prey flees, she steps out of the shadows, flares her wings, then crouches to inspect the fallen shoes. 

They're kind of cute, actually. 

She smiles to herself.

There's the sound of crunching underbrush from the direction her prey fled, followed by a muffled curse.

Liath looks at the dagger in her hands. 

There's blood on it.

Yes, yes, yes, it sings to her. This is the joy of the hunt.

She stands, and walks after her prey at a measured pace. 

She has all the time in the world. 

The forest is hers. Her prey is injured and hobbled. She is in control.

Her prey looks back over her shoulder, and sees her coming. Her eyes go wide. 

She bundles up her skirt and runs.

She can feel her prey's hammering heart, the shortness of her breath, the fear buzzing through her body. The look on her face...

It knocks the confidence out of Liath for a moment. It's hot, but...

The dagger burns in her hand. 

It wants more blood.

... And so does she.

She gathers herself, and walks on.

Her prey crashes through the underbrush, leaving a trail of blood behind her on bushes and branches. She's panting hard with exertion now, but she doesn't give up despite the blood oozing from her calf.

It's clear she's trying her best to get away.

She can sense the altar up ahead. It's not far now. 

She lengthens her stride, the dagger coming out to her right in readiness.

Her prey runs, but her skirt hangs up on a bush. She swears, and pulls hard - 

A ragged gash tears through the fabric, and she stumbles onwards, still bleeding.

Liath breaks out into a run, knife pointed out ahead of her.

Her prey turns and runs headlong, but her injured leg finally gives out and she falls heavily onto her forearms. 

And then Liath is atop her, bearing her to the ground with the knife at her throat, one knee on the small of her back.

"Be still," she snaps out. 

Her prey freezes like a startled deer. Her breath is shaky and ragged.

"What are you going to do with me?" she cries out.

"Whatever I want," replies Liath. Her blade hovers at her prey's throat. 

Her tail runs slowly down her prey's thigh, serrated edges cutting at her pale skin.

"I -" Her prey trembles and whimpers from the pain. "Whatever you want. Please don't kill me please please please -"

Heat coils in Liath's core. 

God, she's so turned on right now. 

She's never had this. Never even touched another woman this closely. Never let her tail wander down someone's thigh...

And now this woman, whoever she is, is completely at her mercy. 

"What's your name?" 

It's not a request. 

"E-Emeline." She lays her head against the ground. "I - please - please let me go, I didn't do anything to you, I thought this was the Rose Bowers, I -" She whimpers lowly. 

"Shut up." Liath sits up on Emeline's back and presses her hand to her shoulder, pushing her against the rich earth. The dagger slips down from her neck to slide slowly across her back, sharp edge against her skin not quite digging in.

Emeline stills, and sighs, and closes her eyes. Her heartbeat hammers against Liath's hand.

Liath's tail wraps three times around her thigh, and then the serrated tip comes up between Emeline's thighs, and grinds in against her soft satin panties. 

"What are you doing out in the woods in a dress and heels like this, Emeline?" Liath's voice is a low purr.

"I - was at a party, in the hedge maze... And I must have drank too much, because - the next thing I knew I woke up here, in the middle of the forest, still in my dress and heels. I didn't know where to go so I just followed the first path I found. I..." She swallows, and quiets.

"That explains the fancy satin panties as well, then. You must have been looking for some action." 

Liath grins, tailing her dagger down along Emeline's spine. "Well, you've found it."

"Nononono, please, no, no -" 

Liath grinds her serrated tail in against the satin, then lets the barbs dig in. 

The satin cuts beneath her pressure, and her tail presses firmly against Emeline's sex. 

"No?" She smiles wickedly. "I thought you wanted to live."

She stills. "I..." She whimpers. 

"... I'll do anything you say."

Despite all her whimpers and whines, her sex is very, very wet against Liath's tail.

"... Are you getting off on this?", Liath says, a note of wonder in her voice.

"No!", Emeline protests. But the flush that comes to her face betrays her.

... Liath laughs. She can't help it.

Of course the Bowers set her up with a masochist who couldn't admit it to herself. 

Emeline just flushes even deeper, and hides her face against the soil of the forest floor. 

"... Please don't rape me," she says quietly.

The dagger pulses in her hand. 

You can do whatever you want, it says. 

And there's that undercurrent of safety and approval, again.

... She must be pretending. That's the only way this could possibly work and be at all sane or ethical. 

So when she says please don't rape me... 

That's a request?

A slow smile spreads across Liath's face.

Emeline shivers and closes her eyes when she sees that smile. 

Liath takes a breath. 

She's already gone this far. Had her dagger draw blood. Pushed her prey to the ground. Threatened Emeline's life. 

And now she's asking to be fucked and hurt. 

That makes it easier. 

Her tail uncoils from around Emeline's thigh, and the serrated tip slips in against her exposed sex, through the remnants of her satin panties. 

"Beg me to fuck you with my tail," Liath says.

Emeline's eyes well up with tears. "No," she says. "Please, no, nonono, I don't want this, please -"

Liath brings the dagger back to her neck. "I said beg."

Emeline goes still. 

"P-please," she grits out. "Please... fuck me with your tail." 

"It's serrated," Liath says. "That'll hurt a lot. Are you sure?"

Emeline whimpers, but nods. "P-please... ruin me with your tail... destroy my p-pussy with your serrated tail. Make me. Make me scream."

Her tears stain the soil.

Liath exhales, long and low. 

Something she's been carrying for a long time feels like it's just fallen off her shoulders. 

... she's free. 

She can do what she wants to do. 

So she kisses Emeline's shoulder, just gently. 

"Shhhhhhhh," she says. "It'll be alright. Don't cry."

Emeline hiccups and shakes her head. "No," she says. "Nothing is - nothing's going to ever be okay again -" 

"We'll go slowly," whispers Liath, and kisses Emeline's shoulder again. "We have time." 

She grins wickedly, and slowly, gently starts to ease her tail into Emeline.

Emeline whimpers at the violation, her body clenching involuntarily around Liath's tail, and cries, and says nothing.

Liath sighs softly, and draws the dagger slowly down Emeline's shoulder. It sparks, heat coming off it -

And Emeline lets out what is unmistakably a long, low, ragged moan. 

"Oh," Liath says. "You like that?"

Confusion flickers across Emeline's face. It looks like she's trying to put two and two together and coming back with five. 

"N-no?" She says, hesitantly. 

Liath sinks her tail deeper into Emeline's pussy, the serrations digging in deeper. 

"Really?", she asks.

Emeline lets out another tortured moan and closes her eyes hard.

"Why does that feel good???"

She whimpers again, high and ragged, and squirms hard underneath Liath -

Liath rides her, and blinks. 

Something... is not quite adding up. 

Experimentally, she drags her claws down Emeline's back, leaving four bloody furrows in her skin.

Emeline whimpers and stiffens and whines and gasps. It's clear that she's in pain, but at the same time... 

She's really, really clearly enjoying it.

Liath bares her teeth in an incredibly smug grin. 

Fuck, this is really just the best of both worlds for her. The more she hurts Emeline, the better it'll feel for her... 

The Bowers must have done this for her. 

There's still a note of confusion, though. Why is Emeline confused? 

She pulls her serrated tail back out of Emeline, cutting deeper into the walls of her cunt. Something isn't quite right... 

"Fuck," gasps Emeline. "Is this a scene?" 

She raises her arm in front of her, and a blackberry tattoo swims to visibility on her wrist. 

She blinks at it. 

"What the fu-" 

And then she looks back over her shoulder at Liath, laughs, and goes limp. "I - uh -" She breaks out into giggles.

Liath blinks, and then she laughs too. "You mean you didn't get a warning, the Bowers just sprung me on you???" 

Emeline squirms beneath Liath, wriggling hard. "Let me just get to my phone, I should be able to check my timesheet -" 

Liath laughs and pushes Emeline back down. "No. You're mine." Affection bleeds into her voice as she strokes her hand slowly down the cuts in Emeline's back. "You really had no clue?"

Emeline lets out a long, sweet moan as the cuts in her back are stroked, and closes her eyes again. "I didn't consent to this -"

A little flare of red light in the form of an X appears next to her head. 

Her head falls to the ground again. 

"... Fuck, I consented to a surprise, didn't I."

Liath laughs and kisses Emeline's shoulder. This time it sizzles. 

"You shouldn't agree to what you don't want," she singsongs. "Now you're mine."

Emeline flushes deeply. "Yeah, I guess I am." She exhales.

"... I wish I hadn't figured it out," she says. "It was - thrilling, to be stalked and captured and - claimed like this -" She flushes.

The knife in Liath's hand hungers. 

It's not sated. 

It wants more fear, more pain, more suffering. 

It says: We can take that from her. 

The penny suddenly drops. 

This is - it has to be - Madeline Selveria. Except her memories have been tampered with, no doubt by her own request. To offer herself up as a sacrifice. 

So in a sense, she really raped Emeline, it's just that Emeline had Madeline consent for her and that's okay because they're the same person. She thinks. The metaphysical implications are a bit troubling. 

She sits back and runs a hand through Emeline's (Madeline's?) hair. 

Emeline blushes and looks down at the ground. 

"I, um..." She looks away. "So what are you going to do with me now?"

She's not sated. And with Emeline in such a collegial mood, so obviously wanting it...

The problem is, she wants her to not want it. 

She looks down at the dagger in her hands.

"Ummmmm..." 

The dagger thrums in her hands. 

Take it from her, it urges. 

She lays the dagger against Emeline's neck, pricks the skin, and wills it to act.

And Emeline's memories slam into her. Of sharp, shocking fear, of pain, of mounting terror as she's stalked, the frozen helplessless of being brought down like a deer, the pulse-pounding astonishment of her body betraying her, the pain and pleasure compounding together - 

Holy shit. 

It's delicious. 

Emeline whimpers beneath her. 

"What just happened???", she cries plaintively.

Liath pats her head.

"Nothing you need to worry about at all, delicious sacrifice."

She can't help but let a little of her amusement bleed into her voice. 

She drives her tail back deep inside Emeline, and grins, and strokes her thumb across the branding-mark on her shoulder.

Emeline lets out a beautiful clear note, a melodious sound and yet an anguished one. 

"You're fucking with my head!", she accuses. "Is it not enough for you just to rape me???"

Liath can't help it, she laughs. 

"Got it in one, sweetheart," she croons. And then she kisses the branding-mark again, and sighs with a smile. 

Her tail starts to build a rhythm inside Emeline's sex, blood staining the serrations on it as it pumps away inside her.

Emeline's musical moans ring out through the forest as she's violated, her whole body tense and shuddering with each painfully pleasurable stroke, her hips juddering against the forest floor in jerky motions.

She doesn't seem to be managing to stay very coherent.

Liath slows her pace. She can afford to take her time. 

She smiles, deeply and genuinely. 

What a gift. 

What a treasure. 

What an honor. 

She finds her free hand wandering down to her own pussy.

Emeline shudders, and manages a half-hearted "Fuck you!"

Liath just rolls her eyes and keeps her pace steady.

Her hand against her sex pumps to the same rhythm as her tail, and she lets out a low moan of her own.

"Fuck, you're getting off on this???"

Liath grins. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I am."

It's incredible. At any moment she could tell Emeline the secret and then it'd be right back to her wanting to continue anyway. She's seen it happen once; there's no way she'd want to stop again. 

For all the invective that Emeline is tossing at her... It's really, really clear where her heart lies. 

She kisses her shoulder again with a sizzle.

"You're beautiful," she says softly.

Emeline just closes her eyes and lets out a hiss of pain.

Laith speeds her tail's pace, and pulls her fingers free of her sex. She doesn't want to come just yet. 

She wants to see this beautiful girl come undone beneath her.

It doesn't take long before Emeline's increasingly warm cries build to a crescendo, and then stop as she grits her teeth against orgasm.

"No," she says softly. "No..."

"I think my line is "Oh, yes.""

Liath traces her hand back over the scratches her claws have left on Emeline's skin, and the burn marks as well. Her tail maintains the same steady pace, blood dripping off it and onto the ground. 

She wants to see it so badly.

Emeline closes her eyes, digs her fingers into the dark soil of the forest floor, and does her best to hold on - but it's of no use. 

She comes, entirely unwillingly.

Liath draws her blood-soaked tail back out of Emeline's sex, and strokes her hand slowly through Emeline's hair. 

"This is all a scene, you know," she says quite casually.

"Don't play with me, you asshole!'

Liath rolls her eyes and smiles. 

"Who's the one who just came?"

"FUCK you!" 

Madeline squirms under Liath, trying to throw her off -

Liath just holds her down. It's not even hard.

"Admit it. You enjoyed it."

Emeline's cheeks burn and she shakes her head. "N-no, no way, I didn't - I couldn't -" 

Liath pats her head. "You're cute when you try to deny it."