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TEST DRIVE MEME 004
⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:
Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. This test drive meme provides a medley of prompts evoking the game's general tone.
THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.
CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: spiders, animated skeletons, aphrodisiac effects, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, knifeplay, potential dismemberment.
If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.
FAQ ✧ SETTING ✧ CALENDAR ✧ RESERVES ✧ APPLICATIONS
THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.
CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: spiders, animated skeletons, aphrodisiac effects, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, knifeplay, potential dismemberment.
If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.
IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE
The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest daylight. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the light has taken on a sickly green. You lie amongst the frost-covered mosses and ferns, the frozen soil cold and just a little damp on your bare skin. Wherever you were before this moment, whatever you were doing or wearing, when you awaken in this forest, you find yourself naked and helpless as the day you were born. As you sit up and get your bearings, aside from a brief wave of disoriented nausea, you seem to be no worse for wear than you last remember.
You seem to be alone. The gnarled oaks and moss suggest no sign of civilization or sentient life. Just flickers of movement from curious squirrels or brave lizards emerging from a temporary retreat from the wintry weather. With your feet under you, and you'll find the wood is filled with berry bushes and nut trees, though much of the fruit has been picked clean. The freshwater stream that runs north-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads, is running actively despite the growing chill.
wildlife encounters
The longer you hike, the more unsettling sights await you: animal remains, some partially stripped of their flesh or discarded entrails left exposed to the cold. As you continue on your way, you might even swear you catch a glimpse of what appears to be a fully-formed skeletal creature observing you from a distance. Surely, that’s just your mind playing tricks on you... These creatures may be unsettling, but they show no signs of aggression to folks who keep their distance.
In the forest, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist groups, others may still be processing their confusion, with no memory of how they got here. Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty; it's going to be a long hike, and the weather isn't quite amenable to your lack of.
Turn your back to the darker, shadowy parts of the forest and eventually the glow of manmade lights and the curve of a dirt road may come into view. At the edge of the wood, you'll find a town surrounded by a fifty-foot wall of beige stone. The only entrance is an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people inside.
This quaint, historic town of five-thousand has cobbled street and signs lit by gas lamp. Wooden shutters protect otherwise open-air windows on the buildings, which are all under three stories with gabled roofs. A number of businesses hug the main street — a clockmaker, a cobbler, a grocer — while residential homes sprawl outwards towards the wall. At the far end of the main street, visible about a mile to the north now that the trees and the enormous wall is out of the way, sits a castle with three towers.
When you enter, the streets are full of people, but despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, they don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. Those determined to find proper clothing regardless will find that modern clothing stores aren't available — the closest this town has is a tailor's shop and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.
breaking and entering
If you intend to have your character break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry, please review the info about game laws on the FAQ and give the mods a heads up HERE.
Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! Anyone who ask the locals will be directed to the boarding house for both clothes and a place to stay. Accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines, beyond an overgrown yard in the residential sprawl of the town is a bright-red door, which opens to a spacious cottage of several stories. It's already full of people who appeared in the village just as you did today.
Tonight, a few of the townspeople will help out with the new arrivals. They stock the kitchen and prepare a communal dinner of parsnips, pheasant, and squash. During dinner, they (and those outsiders who've already begun to settle) sit down at the enormous wooden dining room table and help orient the newcomers and answer their questions.
finding roommates
Don't spend too much time in the dining room going for seconds, though. You'll want to claim a bedroom quickly because each one only has two full-size beds, and there aren't enough spaces for everyone. The last people upstairs will need to double up to squeeze in. Roommates will not be mod-assigned; players should coordinate directly with one another to determine their living arrangements.
Get a good night's rest. By the light of day, locals will help get the new arrivals set up on the coal stove with breakfast. You may notice they're dressed in a way you would almost call normal — at least, in a manner befitting 19th century Eastern Europe. As you find your way around town to get your bearings, folks are eager to help you find a place to apply your skills so you can contribute to your new home.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, acquiring clothing or other inventory items, asking questions at dinner/orientation, or staking your claim on a bedroom!
RECUMITA
The festival fills the streets with dancing locals and all the stuffs of a street market. Despite the challenges posed by the snow-in-summer, farmers are grateful to announce that the situation is not as dire as initially feared. As a result, the harvest festival of Recūmita becomes a celebration of unity and gratitude to their fellow townspeople for salvaging an almost-frozen harvest, the Duchess' magic for protecting and reviving it, and the 'Void-Touched' who braved the Void to strengthen her.Over the weekend, all regular work is put on hold, except for the necessary festival preparations. The streets come alive with vibrant stalls and stands, offering a wide array of delectable treats and refreshing beverages. From barrels of beer and cups of kvas to mouthwatering roasted meats, delightful squash-based dishes like pumpkin latkes, honey-glazed brussel sprouts on skewers, hot borscht in both pork and vegetarian variations, and tantalizing mushrooms stuffed with leeks, cranberries, and bryndza cheese, there is an abundance of flavors to indulge in.
The first day of the festival transforms the streets into a bustling night market, where shopkeepers organize an assortment of carnival-style games. Test your strength in arm-wrestling contests or challenge your pain tolerance in contests where individuals whip each other to determine who yields first, whether to pain or pleasure. In one corner, Terry's Rubean student sets up an unsanctioned fighting tournament, while in another area, a path of hot coals awaits the daring souls who wish to traverse it. Instead of traditional pie-throwing stands, knife-throwing stands attract participants who willingly become targets.
Enthusiastic Rubeans, particularly those involved in integrating the Void-touched, take it upon themselves to enhance the festivities. They recruit local participants and willing Void-touched individuals to partake in an impromptu stage performance, with no need for rehearsals. Come as you are and join the spectacle! Once the performance begins, the passion and excitement behind their efforts become truly evident, as all the performances call for explicitly sexual or violent acts to be performed together.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try entering the fighting rings, watching or joining a live sex performance, or eating some aphro food (deliberately or otherwise)!
the fathomless dark
At the outer edges of the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. Though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset, the wood darkens. Birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs. Anyone who ventures out this way will soon find it difficult to see before them, even in the middle of the day — eventually, even the brightest magical light source or darkvision cannot stretch further than a few inches. In the void, the air feels heavy, as if it were not air at all but some more solid mass. Almost like liquid-smoke, it presses down upon you. Slowing your movements. Characters who push too far into the void may stop being able to move at all, and find themselves given over to insanity if they collapse, unable to draw themselves out. This is just one of many dangers.
Monsters thrive this far out. Huge, blood-red spiders the size of hunting dogs drop from the treetops. In addition to their venomous bite, which contains a fast-acting paralytic, these creatures are clever: they attempt to use their webbing to entangle any trespassers, binding limbs together or to trees. If you're unfortunate to become fully cocooned, you don't have long before this forest will be the last thing you see.
In addition to the spiders, you may come across the sharp-toothed furred yetis that emerged during the snowstorm, still looking for a meal. Each one hunts alone, a fifteen-foot-tall shambling creature that drips black ooze and super-chills the air around it until your skin feels tight and icy. If it gets the drop on you, you're likely to be its dinner. It has emerged from a long summer hibernation to enjoy the colder weather, and it's starving.
Those who seem lucky enough not to run afoul of the monsters here are in for a worse fate. The void can play tricks on your senses. As madness sets in and you lose all sense of direction, you may also lose control of your body — what is that steers your hands to turn against your friends? Why does it sound like your own voice whispering?
In the fog, you may also hear the voices of those familiar to you — people you know from the town, or people whom you know with almost perfect certainty aren't here. these figments may recreate unhappy memories or force trespassers to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Nothing is as it seems in the void, and when you swing at these figments, desperate to silence them, it might not be a figment at all, but a friend in the flesh trying to help you. By the time you see their true face, it could be too late to stop yourself.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try fighting a monster, hallucinating your worst nightmares, and/or attacking a friend or stranger!
HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US
Uh oh spaghetti-os.
The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.
Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.
Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.
Rubilykskoye's performance troupe is thrown into a state of panic as they make a shocking discovery: Vyanchaslav, their unofficial manager and conductor, has vanished without a trace! Vyanchaslav plays a crucial role in the troupe, overseeing small inter-troupe matters and having the final say on casting and rehearsal time. He is known for his reliability, making his sudden disappearance all the more perplexing, especially right before a major event.
The last time anyone saw Vyanchaslav was in their usual rehearsal space, just before a crucial run-through of their upcoming performance. His absence during that rehearsal was highly unusual, and it left the troupe members worried and confused. They are now frantically trying to piece together what might have happened to him.
As they search for Vyanchaslav, they notice a faint sound lingering in the air – the distant whine of a fiddle. However, there is something unsettling about it. As they follow the source of the sound, the room grows darker, and an eerie chill runs down their spines. Those who draw close enough to properly hear Vyanchaslav's song will feel inclined to dance themselves til their feet bleed, til their lungs give out. That is, provided they don't cut a devil's bargain with him first, selling something else to the devil in exchange for their freedom.
(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)
The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.
Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.
Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.
someone else transforms
Rubilykskoye's performance troupe is thrown into a state of panic as they make a shocking discovery: Vyanchaslav, their unofficial manager and conductor, has vanished without a trace! Vyanchaslav plays a crucial role in the troupe, overseeing small inter-troupe matters and having the final say on casting and rehearsal time. He is known for his reliability, making his sudden disappearance all the more perplexing, especially right before a major event.The last time anyone saw Vyanchaslav was in their usual rehearsal space, just before a crucial run-through of their upcoming performance. His absence during that rehearsal was highly unusual, and it left the troupe members worried and confused. They are now frantically trying to piece together what might have happened to him.
As they search for Vyanchaslav, they notice a faint sound lingering in the air – the distant whine of a fiddle. However, there is something unsettling about it. As they follow the source of the sound, the room grows darker, and an eerie chill runs down their spines. Those who draw close enough to properly hear Vyanchaslav's song will feel inclined to dance themselves til their feet bleed, til their lungs give out. That is, provided they don't cut a devil's bargain with him first, selling something else to the devil in exchange for their freedom.
(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)
you waited too long
At first, as you hide yourself from your darker impulses, a subtle itch develops under your skin. An irritability that makes you snap at the person who bumps into you on the stairs because all those fleeting emotions that you've been repressing bubble to the surface. Every dark thought you've had about being here, all the fears of never getting home, of being surrounded by ticking time bombs, the anxiety of wondering who you might hurt or what relationships you might betray by doing what you have to do. The anger. Oh, the anger.
Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.
As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.
As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
no subject
"You would claim responsibility for me, like some hound you've let off leash? Truly, that elf arrogance of yours knows no bounds."
He bites off each word with a snap of jaw, voice heavy with scorn and the implicit threat of crushed bone. But even as he resolutely turns his head away, pointing his steps toward the stables, Khoriya cannot deny that that... to speak and be spoken to... it tempers the bestial edge of his rage, the mindless urge to lash out like a cornered animal curbed and channeled into verbal violence alone.
And it is in this way that he manages to stagger forward a step at a time, answering Ankari's carefully worded barbs with unfettered vitriol, what precious little control he holds directed toward unwilling limbs and tamping down the cascade of molten heat that pours through him in a scalding wave.
"Pah. I have no honor of which to speak of, and you ought well know it," he snarls, "The only reason I have not torn you from limb to limb is because I loathe the taste of you Stilmyst elves. I have already tired of picking the splinters of your father's bones out of my teeth, and if I wished another mouthful of old moss and cloying sap, I would have myself a bite out of some half-rotted oak before I ever bothered with a taste of you."
no subject
Maybe he saw a brief flash of understanding, when he spoke truth and Khoriya accepted him. Only then, only so very shortly. Never again.
He needs to keep Khoriya talking and disdainfully focused up. The past is a cruel thing, a terrible distraction. It's perfect to open old wounds about now. Ankari heals quick, after all, he can self mutilate if it means getting Khoriya somewhere contained.
"My father was a coward who ran the moment he heard his first son was felled," Ankari goes on, knowing he wants to know and also that he hates knowing, "did Caldera put up an entertaining fight, I wonder? He was more feral a beast than any of your lot,"
no subject
"Was that his name? I did not bother learning it."
Not by choice. By the end of the battle, Khoriya had ordered his men to cut him a wide berth and then thrown himself into the maelstrom of fury, the cursed gift of the bloodline of Theros. A toss of the head, swallowing down the memory of blood-soaked earth and stinking flesh that threatens to rise in his gut and blot out what little reason he still holds. Finally, finally the stable doors come into view. Only a little further now before he can be free of this, of Ankari tailing him like a distasteful shadow.
"A boastful braggart who loved the sound of his own voice. Full of tedious threats and promises of wiping worgs clean from the world, until he choked on his own blood - and my blade lodged in his throat." A hand on the stable doors, shoving them open with a screech of rusted hinges even as his words turn now to deeper cruelty, all the better to drive away his unwanted elf minder. "I tore that worthless tongue from his mouth and swallowed it down, rent him from limb to limb, left his carcass to be buried in the mud and burned with all the rest of your worthless kin."
no subject
"You burned him," Ankari says, but his voice is breathing in, nearly gasping at the idea. Caldera would have lived, most likely, knowing of his magic blessing. There was no way he would have died without his heart full of malice. Would Ankari have only needed to wait out his brother's return, back home? Caldera could have come back- Rescued him from such a marriage? Perhaps even reclaimed Stilmyst from invaders...
That would only have made Caldera the new King. A terrible outcome. No better than where they were before the worg broke in their gates.
He shakes his head. That's another world, another way things might have gone. Ankari is sure he'd not have lasted long enough to see such a day, his health too weak and his stubbornness too great. Swallowing any more words on the topic, he looks up to Khoriya,
"You've managed to contain yourself, I do commend you that," he sighs, with relief not disappointment, being savaged is truly not on his list of desires for this evening.
no subject
What modicum of peace he's found is shattered by Ankari's voice, his lingering presence like the scrape of nails against brass, too close, the honey-sweet green scent of him stirring the inner animal to hunger despite himself, the mirrored desires for mate and meat so close as to be nearly indistinguishable. Why is that damned elf still here, tempting fate? Why had he not been driven away?
What the Ankari intends as observation, Khoriya hears as insult, and the brief, petty flicker of indignation is overshadowed by the incandescent flare of fury, pent up bloodlust seeking an outlet, any outlet at all.
"You wish to commend me?" In a blur of motion, Khoriya rounds upon him - one long arm outstretched to pin Ankari back against one of the stable doors as he looms over him, all bristling mane and slavering jaws - and that massive cock now standing fully erect, barely disguised by the drape of cloak. Blunt claws rake over Ankari's front, catching against his shirt with a faint rrip of cloth. "Better that you beg for mercy for your presumptuous tongue instead. The night is long; perhaps I've hunger enough to sate myself with elf flesh all the same."
no subject
"I suspect that if I did beg it would turn you away," he states, "nothing seems to disgust you more than meekness. Such a shame, my elf arrogance knows no bounds." He echoes Khoriya's words right at him, pointing out the contradiction, the lose-lose. Ankari is disgusting if he begs, cries, is weak. If he is strong, then he is also arrogant, naive, and stupid. He'll be the latter. At least there is some dignity in being the brazen fool. Ankari can only wince lightly at the sound of snapping threads on his tunic.
"I've offered to sate you to spare my people, once before," a reminder that is cruel and distant, yet relevant to the here and now. His throat bobs to swallow nothing but a lump there, "I don't want you ravaging anybody here, either, nor me for that matter. If you have an ounce of restraint left in you, then..." He didn't think this through. Ankari speaks too much on the fly, spins too much yarn without knowing the pattern he's supposed to be working- the first thing that comes to mind-
"R-r, rub off between my thighs, how about? Spare yourself stooping so low as to fuck an elf any further than need serve." He caught Khoriya looking at his legs, right? They are Ankari's best feature, if anything is appealing of him, it must be that. So neatly dolled up in his stockings and delicate garters, maybe it will be enough of an offer to satisfy.
cw: threats of cannibalism & sa
Hateful malice has a stranglehold upon his tongue, and in that moment Khoriya cannot recognize his own voice as the gray fur of his snout darkens to an inky black and shadows writhe and dance in the dim light of the stable lanterns. A bark of vicious laughter comes bubbling out of his lungs, and in it, he hears the echo of his father. Of Uncle, gore-spattered face twisted into a mask of joy, of delight in cruelty.
The fear that comes surging through his veins is enough to briefly drive back the dark tide, Khoriya going stiff as a board before jerking back a step, forcing himself away from Ankari and the temptation of his body.
"Go." His voice comes out a raw hiss, agonized desperation and loathing twisted and turned inward. Even at his worst, even in the bloodiest depths of his rage, Khoriya had never made such threats, given voice to such monstrous desires before. "I can't- Don't let me...!"
no subject
That was a true monster...
Goddess save Ankari's wicked soul and weak heart. He hears Khoriya's terror at doing something he wishes not to do. He restrained himself this long, this far. Ankari steps forward, he boldly reaches out to place gentle palms upon the cloak covering his chest. He speaks firm and insistent,
"You made it all this way, Khoriya," he affirms, honest admiration of that in his tone, so painfully and frightfully sincere, "but these urges will drive you right back out there if not dealt with. My offers stands, if you'll only keep your wits... don't make me regret this,"
no subject
And worst of all, it is that gentle touch that breaks him, the careful press of elegant hands against his shuddering chest that pierces him through his defenses like the kiss of an assassin's blade. Like a prayer to the Moon, Ankari's voice rings through him, offering respite, and Khoriya can hear his words only as pity, as proof positive of how very weak he has become, because he cannot deny or turn away from his enemy's mercy.
(And had Ankari not met him with such sincerity once before, standing before the empty throne with scepter in hand, head held high. Even then, Khoriya had not been able to refuse him...)
Exhale, eyes squeezed shut as Khoriya tosses his head like a fractious horse. But when he next opens his eyes, there is a new and helpless resignation upon his canine face, jaw working before he manages to growl out:
"Turn around." Shameful, that Khoriya cannot even bear to look the elf in the eyes as he takes his pleasure of his body.
no subject
From the waist of his shorts he pops free a small vial of slick oil. Enough to coat a palm and glide across his inner thighs with hasty improvisation. If Khoriya has more judgement words for him about it- whore, schemer- he doesn't have anything to say to such accusations. He was always a schemer, he's become a whore... if neither were his intention at this moment, what does that matter?
He presses his now shiny slick legs flush and arches his back, wordlessly offering Khoriya to make use. His fingers hook over the edge of the stall and he simply casts the worg a stern glance over his shoulder. A what are you waiting for look of annoyance if there's much more hesitation.
no subject
But he cannot long resist that wanton lift of hips and the slim curve of Ankari's ass, for all that - as Khoriya tells himself - there is nothing of true attraction or wanting between them. Only as necessity dictates in this desperate moment.
The challenge in that hard look is met with a growl, and between one breath and the next, Khoriya is upon him in a fury that could be mistaken for an attack - were it not for the hot and heavy press of a massive cock shoved between Ankari's parted thighs and the strong grasp of clawed hands, one upon his hip and the other caught in the corn-yellow fall of Ankari's hair. Pulling his head back as if to bare the elf's throat for Khoriya's taking, fanged jaws close over the collar of his shirt, where neck joins shoulder - but then locks in place before he can break skin, ravening animal urges dragged kicking and snarling back from the brink.
no subject
"Khoriya..." A soft mutter. A reprimand, reminder, and plea in one; don't make him regret this. He tightens his legs around the massive cock shoved therein. His hips sway from the weight pressed up against him. Involuntary at first and then deliberate, squirming purposefully to give the pleasure his "partner" is in need of sating.
no subject
None of it matters.
Except that the slick press of warm thighs and fabric rub sweet and sensuous over his length as powerful hips work, thrusting with abandon against his reluctant mate. Pleasure falls in a warm cascade through him, soothing the itch of the aphrodisiac and the darkness it had summoned. With a stifled groan, Khoriya manages to release his jaws upon Ankari's shoulder, instead rubbing the short, soft fur of his muzzle unthinkingly against the column of his throat, wet nose brushing the underside of his jaw.
no subject
Don't feel like this, not for Khoriya, anybody but this beast. The blush on his ears glows slightly, illuminating in the dark. Ankari wants to duck his head, but all that does is nuzzle him into Khoriya. So... He incidentally does just that before catching himself. A flustered huff leaves him, knees clutching back to connect after being driven apart. He's resolved to the task, no matter how degrading. Better this than any alternative. If his body reacts at all to the stimulation, the tension of the situation, fine...
He'll swallow the embarrassment. Khoriya already looks down on him. What does it matter, sparing his own pride?
no subject
Shame burns in the back of his mind, but the lusty animal is satisfied - more than satisfied, it purrs and purrs as powerful arm curls around Ankari, blunt claws catching against folds of fabric as he drags the elf a step back, all but flattening him against Khoriya's hard chest. His aching cock rubs oil-slick between warm thighs and sleek stockings, sweet friction and the helpless squirm of slim hips only riling him further.
Still, that primal hunger lingers as slavering jaws part once again, a long hot tongue licking beads of salt-sap sweat from Ankari's jaw, a scrape of fang against pointed ear. Control enough to restrain himself to a lick, a taste, a nip - nothing more.
no subject
Even more strange, the ticklish sensation granted by the worg lapping at him or brushing fangs across skin without biting down. If Khoriya's body did radiate such warmth then Ankari would blame all the shivering he's doing on the cold. He can't even justify it to himself, gasping softly when there's a nibble to his ear, throat bobbing beneath that wolfish tongue.
In equal shame to Khoriya, he realizes the strain of his shorts is not just from the rutting cock between his legs shifting upward and catching the fabric. No, it's from his own length hardening, the shape clear where he tucked it along his hip. Ankari looks down and quickly snaps his gaze up and away from the sight. Sordid, entirely too wrong of his body, enjoying something like this. He wants to protest with words, claim it is not what it looks like, but Khoriya knocks any eloquence out of him with thrust after thrust, lick after lick.
no subject
His hand fists in Ankari's shirt, blunt claws raking raw red lines through torn fabric, clutching tighter as if the elven prince is his only anchor in the whirlwind of desire-pleasure-bloodlust that has overtaken him.
But it is the faint scent of arousal that pushes him to the brink and quickens his pulse, even as it slows the furious pounding rhythm of his hips. The hand that had gripped bruising-tight upon the elf's hip now palms over them both in a slow caress starting against the underside his own throbbing cock, catching the slickness dripping over the tip, and then over Ankari's groin to roughly stroke over his hard length.
"Hhaaa..." Close. So close. Khoriya shudders as white-hot heat pours through him, gripped by the desire of the lusty animal to sink fang into Ankari's shoulder in another sharp nip.
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"Why-? K-K, Khoriya..!" a confused plea, uncertain even what he's asking for. The worg must just get off on humiliating him, that's all. Why would he even question that that is what's going on? And worst of all, Ankari feels himself getting off on being in such a position. He position he readily offered, has himself thoroughly to blame for. He wants to thrust his hips wantonly into the touch upon him, but in his pride Ankari tries to be still and not indulge-
When Khoriya breathes hottest and heaviest, likely near his peak, that's just when Ankari feels his locked up knee give out. He's still holding tight to the stall with his hands, but Khoriya is briefly denied pressure around his cock as Ankari staggers on one side. Panicking to correct, Ankari balances all his weight on his good leg and forward to his arms. Squeezing with his thighs again, every part of his body is alight and burning from physical strain. His muscles tingle from being pushed too long and hard, heart pounding harder than he's ever felt outside of a ritual. Adrenaline keeps him upright and, unfortunately, makes him all the more close to releasing in his own pants.
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But in this moment, nothing riles him more than hearing his name upon the elf's tongue, and how it spurs on the greedy inner beast. This is his mate, to fuck and to mark with fang and scent, to touch and stir into arousal. Khoriya wants nothing more than to to prompt that helpless gasp again and feel the stutter and tremble of slim hips, the squeeze of warm thighs around his rigid member. More, the animal demands, give me more as he clumsily repeats the motion, calloused palm and blunt claws stroking over Ankari's cock even as the building pleasure pushes him over the edge.
With sharp growl, Khoriya gives a final thrust of hips before coming in a hot flood, cum spattering over the front of the stall door, slick and hot over Ankari's front and thighs.
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One that is met by Khoriya's own, his hefty cock spraying a hot load out in front of them both, lingering spurts dripping down onto Ankari's friction burnt thighs and quivering legs beneath. Legs that were already weak but hit their limit, Ankari letting go of the stall so he can just drop flat to his knees when they give out. He kneels before the splattered door with heaving, panting breathes. Shorts, garters, and stockings all cling to his skin, soaked with a mixture of their cum.
cw: thoughts of sa
There comes a thought that seems to rise from deep within him, bubbling up like tar from the depths of the black void. See how pretty he looks upon his knees. Such is an elf's rightful place. Wrap your fist around his horns and see to it that he stays there, bid him open that worthless mouth of his and make use of that poisoned tongue-
The bottom drops out of his stomach, and for a moment Khoriya grasps eagerly at the winter chill that fills his lungs, cutting through him and leaving him breathless. No matter that the inner animal now lies quiescent and pacified by what they had done. The cruel streak that runs within him had only been strengthened by the foul magics of this place, and Khoriya hates its loathsome whisper in his ear - and how loud its voice grows around Ankari, as if slavering for a chance to tear into a hated enemy.
"...I suppose you got the worg cock you were after."
He has managed to school his voice and expression back to its usual façade of stoic nothingness, even as his mouth shapes words of lascivious, lying insinuation - why else would Ankari have lead and cajoled him all this way, and then locked himself into close quarters with the beast? But if verbal cruelty fails again to drive away the elf, Khoriya is ready to bodily toss him out of the stables himself.
"Now get out."
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All his has is hollow insults. Not truth, not falsity, just empty words. Ankari's expression cracks into a hurt smirk. The noise he first makes is a cold laugh, sounding like the start of a sob at first. He reaches a shaky hand for his cane, takes it, but his other hand reaches upward with a princely expectation. In dark humor, Ankari is pretending to have some arrogant pride left when he cannot even move himself. He simply cannot obey the demand... so he gives one instead.
"Help me up, Khoriya," his tone is clear, it is the least you could do for me. Otherwise, he'll need to be grabbed and tossed out like a ragdoll. He can feel some empowerment from his goddess pumping through his veins, but the energy of this prayer was only so satisfying to her.
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It stings, even to admit this to himself, but Ankari had proven himself more enduring and bolder in deed and word than Khoriya had ever expected. Surely the same prince who had dared to face the conquering worg army and foolishly usher Khoriya along at his most vicious and monstrous would not weep before him. Only draw upon that innate elvish arrogance and make some presumptuous statement or demand, just as he does now. It is equal parts captivating and infuriating to the inner beast, despite Khoriya's best efforts to ignore its foolish intrigue.
The command is met with a long, ominous silence, before Khoriya stoops slightly, a broad palm catching beneath Ankari's outstretched hand and the other cupping his elbow to lift the elven prince up to his feet with surprising delicacy - though he'll make as if to pull away just as quickly, as if he cannot bear to touch Ankari for a moment longer than necessary.
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That considered, the elf is not shy to bend slightly and irritated brush each inner thigh of clinging cum. His own or Khoriya's, he hates that there's even a question. He shakes his hand out, not caring if it splatters further, the mess is made. They're done here. Ankari will be limping out, now. Marching himself straight to the bathhouse, good lord.
"Get some rest. Don't bother anybody else."