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dragonkingteo · 5 years ago

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Into the Devil’s Maw

{{ Short story around Vernon. Contains violence and dark humor, but no gore }}

If there was something about the Guild Knights that annoyed Vernon more than the rest, it would be the fact that they stole his toys. Not like they did it willingly, but the Guild tended to send its Knights in priority to known poacher camps for cleanup, instead of Vernon and his men – even if the latter were the ones to discover the camp's location in the first place.

Thus Vernon was stuck with interrogating one or two unlucky outlaws, verifying the information for report to the hierarchy, and then the Knights got all the fun of finishing his work on the field. It was frustrating, but not surprising per se. The Guild put some effort to avoid involving him and his questionable methods when they were not necessary, or to put it short, when no further interrogation was required.

Yet today – today was different. For that one camp, hidden somewhere in the middle of the Everwood, Vernon had decided (a bit by himself) to take the matters at hand personally.

After all, he believed he deserved a bit of vacation, too.

The camp was well-hidden, half buried underground. Quiet and unaware of what was coming. Inside, a group of poachers counted their loot. They traded goods and biological samples taken from live Monsters for money, but to be fair, Vernon didn't care much anymore. He came with his men to break jaws.

Accompanying him were the less scrupulous Hunters at his service, those who hated poachers like him, and who weren't afraid of erasing their miserable lives – in a more or less human way, depending on their morals.

As they approached the camp, they started to become nervous. They weren't used to fighting other humans to death. Not like they were worried about losing the battle; because despite their relative low numbers, they were well equipped. And they had Vernon. The man everyone viewed as a snake, the kind that could freeze your blood just by looking at you with his unnerving smile. Most of his men were grateful that he wore a mask covering his face, while the humorous ones would argue that it was only to avoid making the fight... too easy.

Breaking in was not a problem, and once Vernon had stepped inside, the outlaws were barely given the chance to fight back. It was a massacre. While some Hunters used short swords and crossbows to pierce the poachers' skin, others wielded maces and hammers to break their bones. Vernon used pretty much anything he could get his claws on to dismantle whoever stood in his path. Daggers, spiked chains, flails, or even his bare fists. He was unstoppable. He didn't even care about finishing his victims, and wouldn't have minded their agonizing for long hours, though he knew his men who came after him would try to put an end to their suffering anyway.

They were too spiritual.

While exploring the camp, Vernon took note of a circular arena-like structure, possibly an old quarry, that held the Monsters used for trafficking inside separate cages. There were mainly herbivorous creatures kept captive, several empty cages, and a large one holding no less than a live Silver Rathalos. Missing an eye and many scales, the beast's movements were completely restrained as chains were enclosing its jaws, wings and tail tightly to the ground. It looked so lethargic that it didn't even seem to acknowledge the battle going on in the camp. Vernon watched it for a second before he turned back – but not for long, he knew.

The further the Hunters went, the more challenging it became since the remaining poachers were given some time to prepare while their comrades got gutted alive. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to save their souls. The masked man delighted in the fear filling their eyes as soon as they saw his Silverwind armor covered with the blood of their friends, and even more in their cries for help while they were beaten to death – not an agreeable moment for Vernon's men who got to see that, but one hell of a treat for him.

They finally reached a large area deeper in the camp, where a group of armed bandits were surrounding their boss, the tallest and probably the most experienced of the bunch. This was it. While the leader bawled orders to his guards, Vernon pointed at each of them with his gloved hand, and his long-range men shot them with their crossbows. Soon enough, the leader of the poachers was the only one standing, faced by the leader of the poacher hunters.

"Wh-who the hell are you?" spat the bandit with a rasping voice, desperately searching Vernon's eyes in the shadow of his helmet.

"Your darkest fantasy," Vernon replied as he slammed the end of his chained flail against the ground.

Had the bandit not panicked, perhaps would he have stood a chance against the snake. But the latter moved fast, and knew how to take advantage of short battles. Using his speed and weapons, he knocked out the poacher and pinned him against the ground, then began to remove the armor of his victim. His men knew what that meant – Vernon only did this to the people he was going to torture.

"We... aren't supposed to interrogate him, boss," muttered one of them. The others looked at him, worried that saying that might anger their leader.

Vernon remained calm, though. Unnaturally calm.

"I'm not planning to," he affirmed without looking up. While his men confusedly glanced at one another, Vernon raised a hand and made a gesture.

"Give me a rope," he ordered, and eventually a Hunter agreed to step forth with what he had asked for. Soon enough the poacher had nothing but his trousers on him, and his hands bound behind his back. Vernon stood up and grabbed the man's calf to drag him out, his back against the ground. The Hunters stepped away, some of them perhaps already feeling half-sorry for whatever was about to happen to the outlaw boss.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" the man coughed, trying in vain to free himself from Vernon's grip while he got hauled around. Though Vernon did not answer, the poacher opened his eyes wide when he realized where they were headed: the quarry in which he had had all the Monsters locked up. Oh, this smelt terrible.

Tossed in the middle of the arena, the man coughed and shouted, "A-are you fucking crazy?!"

He attempted to stand up, but his knee collapsed under his weight with horrible pain.

"Dammit!" he spat.

Vernon crossed the quarry towards the cage that held the Silver Rathalos. After crouching in front of the beast, he studied its face closely for a second. What a pitiful state it was in. Surely the poachers had gotten their share of gold from the sell of its scales.

"Wake up," Vernon whispered.

The Rathalos opened its eye. Vernon nodded and stepped aside, revealing the poacher pitifully laying in the dirt, panic in his eyes.

"Recognize him?"

After a short silence, the Wyvern let out a low growl. An unnerving chuckle then came out of Vernon's mask.

"Hehe. Yes... Of course you do."

Further in the back, Vernon's men were standing by the large door exiting the arena. Quietly, they watched as their boss turned to face them and motioned towards the cages of the herbivorous animals. He wanted to release them. While a few Hunters stepped up and pulled on the levers that held the doors closed, Vernon grabbed from a nearby weapon rattle a heavy Carbalite axe, not unlike that of a Charge-blade, probably kept there in case the Monsters got too nervous while they were being locked up.

Soon enough, the messy escape of the herbivores filled the arena with sounds of clinking and bleating. As he got stepped onto by unaware Kelbis and Moofahs, the poacher leader yelped, helpless – but louder clanks prompted him to lift his head towards the Rathalos. From the look in its eye, it seemed agitated by the running cattle.

In the back, Vernon analyzed how the chains that held the Wyvern passed through the spaces between the bars, and were attached to the ground outside of the cage.

"Smart, keeping a rare beast like that," he spoke before swinging the axe upwards and striking at the chain in a loud clang. Terrorized, the poacher watched as Vernon broke the Wyvern's tail free.

Once the last Aptonoths had run away through the exit, the masked man nonchalantly walked towards the chain enclosing the wings of the beast.

"I assume keeping it alive guarantees top-quality materials, am I wrong?" Slamming his axe down onto a weak link, the chain snapped. A louder growl escaped the Rathalos as it partly opened its wings, though still blocked by the cage around it.

There were only the jaws left to set free, and the poacher began to beg. "No! Please, don't let it kill me!"

Vernon paused, watching the Wyvern. It was getting impatient. Its tail and claws slashed against the bars of the cage repeatedly while it yanked on the chain around its nose, making ominous noises prompting Vernon's men to retreat further away. They didn't feel this. At all.

"Why not? He's dying to pay you back for the good treatment."

Vernon turned to face the poacher. The poor man had started to crawl towards the exit, doing all he could to use his shoulders and the only functional leg he had left to wriggle his way out. Pathetic. Vernon's men looked up at their boss, waiting for an order to shoot the prisoner once and for all. But Vernon had something else in mind. With one ultimate swing, he broke the last chain that held the Rathalos' jaws; and while the creature shook its head to get rid of the bonds, Vernon tugged at the lever opening the cage. A mighty roar then echoed throughout the arena, sending a chill up everyone's spine.

The Silver Rathalos stumbled out of the cage, dark fumes emanating from its jaws. It was free, finally. But it had one last thing to do before it escaped this cursed place. Full of grudge and hatred, its eye locked onto the poacher.

"Y-you MONSTER!" screamed the man, his vision blurred by terror at the sight of the approaching Wyvern.

"Come now," the Hunter sneered, uncovering his head and the unnatural, predatory grin adorning his face. "Call me Vernon."

With a powerful beat of wings, the Rathalos rose above the ground and roared of all its might, before it dived talons first onto the screaming outlaw. Vernon's men took a step back, watching with horror what used to be another human get effortlessly torn apart by the Wyvern. Only Vernon, crouched on the other end of the arena, looked at the scene with the satisfied smile of a shark who just finished his bloody meal.

#vernon #writing #backstory #character development #hunter #monster hunter #silver rathalos #rathalos #violence #silverwind armor

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tenderlywicked · 7 years ago

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Welcome Katherine Wyvern with her new book Spice and Vanilla!

Dear Katerina,

Thanks for having me here today to talk about my new book! It owes quite a lot to YOU! J

The BDSM element in Spice and Vanilla came about in part because I had just finished reading your beautiful, beautiful Tenderly Wicked, so I was in the mood for something a bit spicier than my previous release, and partly because I had this idea for Raphael, the main character, that he would be “in two minds about anything”. He’s gender-fluid, bisexual, and as it turns out, a switch (he is in fact the sort of character that can piss off absolutely every reader on earth, lol).

I always like sex scenes to carry some of the character building in my stories. I think sex is one of the most visceral things we do in life, and the way we have sex with different people and different sex with the same people at different times can say a lot about us, about our feelings for our partners and where we are in a relationship. You can put so much more than smut in a sex scene (although a good amount of smut is most welcome), and when you stray into BDSM that potential for character exploration rises tenfold, because there are so many more layers to it. Why do we feel the need, in a caring, loving relationship, for giving or receiving pain? Why do power and humiliation become a turn on, even a necessity, at certain times? And can these things add more to our relationships than just a passing kinky thrill? Can they possibly become a way to express feelings we don’t have words for? I do not pretend to have full answers to these questions, but I did enjoy searching for them in the company of such complex characters as Raphael and Hugh.

Blurb:

Time was, when Di could dance all night. Time was, when she could ride any horse in the stable. Time was when she had a fiancée, a future and a home she loved. Until a silver SUV came out of nowhere and broke her life in half.

Well concealed under a sarcastic, spiny hide, Hugh has a darkly romantic, passionate soul. Torn between love and terror, he’s held the talented, elegant, magnetic Raphael carefully at arm’s length since the day they met.

Male or female, men or women, kinky or sweet, top or bottom?Angel or devil? Raphael’s life is a string of unanswered questions. And Lucie, his long-hidden female self, may bring it all together or destroy everything he has.

Be warned: cross-dressing, gender-queer, explicit M/M and M/F sex, anal sex, spanking, flogging, bondage, forced orgasm, sex toys

Excerpt:

Hugh watched him stroking away with great contentment. He was totally worn out after a crazy day at work, and it was not always easy to find the energy to satisfy such an enthusiastic masochist. There were days when he wished Raphael were a bit less fond of being spanked and whipped, but he always did his best to oblige him. The thought of his Raphael going out there looking for release from God-only-knows-whom, and getting hurt for real by some less scrupulous or talented Dom was just unbearable. Still, tonight he would lie back and relax. Mostly.I will have to help him eventually, he thought with a slightly evil grin, but I can take a breather first.

Raphael stroked in perfect tempo. He was one of the most technically exact musicians Hugh had ever played with, after all. Too exact, in fact.

It would do him so much good to let go a bit, to just go with the flow, be wild and imprecise and purely passionate. Then he would not need so much of this.

Tick—tock—tick—tock—tick—tock, went the metronome, and Raphael stroked and stroked. It was a good while before Hugh could tell, from a small furrow between those blond eyebrows, that the unchanging, slow rhythm was beginning to frustrate him. He smiled a bit wider and said nothing, devouring his beautiful quarry with his eyes. He watched, entranced the fluid play of flesh and skin as Raphael’s long pale cock, a nice ruddy purple by now, sank and reemerged into and from his fist, the velvet-like foreskin lapping beautifully over the shinier, silky glans, the testicles bouncing softly to the rhythm as the scrotum was pulled up and released. It was hard to resist the temptation to throw the whole scene to the devil and just take that cock in his mouth and suck it empty.

This is without exception the best use a metronome was ever put to.

Raphael’s body was developing a number of small, charming tics and twitches. He briefly lifted his left knee from the mattress then relaxed again. His right wrist was pulling on the strap from time to time, and his breath was coming in slightly ragged bursts.

Still it took a long time. Too much control, thought Hugh, smiling. Tsk-tsk.

Tick—tock—tick—tock.

He slowly unfolded his hands and moved to sit between Raphael’s legs. He spit on his middle finger and watched Raphael’s face, half hopeful, half anxious, as he slowly approached his anus. He didn’t hurry. He let Raphael wait for it. He would beg, in time, Hugh knew, but there was no need for that, not yet. He finally pressed his fingertip to the twitching, tight, live rose of flesh and felt it jolt and spasm. He massaged it in circles, with relish, and didn’t even try to penetrate it. Raphael was shaking all over, trying to press down on his finger, but there was just so far he could stretch, tied as he was. His belly muscles went taut. They were contracting in random, jerky convulsions. Hugh had never seen anything so beautiful.

Then Raphael missed a beat. His hand had picked up pace, ignoring all orders. Raphael whimpered, trying to compensate to get back in the right tempo. The double change of pace made him squirm all over. He swallowed twice and missed the beat again. This time Hugh slapped the inside of his thigh, very hard. Raphael could take a long regular series of well-spaced blows with relative ease, but a single hard slap coming down out of the blue like that drew a ragged cry from him.

“You do know what tempo means, I asked?” Hugh said, in a plain chatty voice. He had never had any taste whatsoever for histrionics. He was not, he had never been, a theatrical Dom. He wasn’t in it for setting up a show. He just got the job done.

“Yes. Yes!” said Raphael, a bit frantic. He managed to stick to the rhythm for a minute longer, until Hugh gently stuck his finger just within the ring of his anus. All of Raphael’s body twisted, and he lost all track of the cold, mechanical rhythm of the metronome.

And that is exactly what you need, my love .Too much playing by the rules, too much fucking control. You need to find your own tempo, and just let go.

Five or six fast hard strokes followed. Hugh slapped him twice, on his thigh, and, when he turned suddenly, on his butt. And then Raphael came, on the third slap, as he flopped flat on his back again, crying out in pleasure or pain, or both. It was hard to tell. Semen spurted out in beautiful, long, arched white streamers, splattering over Raphael’s belly, chest, and even his face.

It is difficult to aim while being spanked hard.

Hugh watched him coming, avidly.

He was so naked. So vulnerable, so unguarded. Hugh, who felt, every day, that he might shatter like glass, on Raphael’s unearthly, impossibly graceful, self-possessed beauty, lived for these moments, to watch him released of all self-consciousness and all bonds. Strange, how it took a bunch of leather straps to get him to do that.

“Ah, oh, shit. That hurt,” Raphael whispered after a minute. “Not complaining, mind,” he added, with a small edgy laugh, wiping some drops of sperm from his lips and eyebrow.

“Good,” said Hugh, quite composed, despite the erection straining in his pants. Watching Raphael twitching and jolting while covered in glistening semen was not a sight to leave him unmoved. He reached out for the metronome, stopped it and lowered the weight a tad, then started it again.

This was a faster, business-like tempo.

“There you go, hot lips,” he said to Raphael, who was still breathing hard from his orgasm.

“What? Wh—but…”

Hugh gave him a small devilish smile. Raphael was perfectly capable of coming two or three times in one night, but, like most men, he needed a while to recuperate in between. Well, tonight, he wasn’t getting it.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

You can also find an exclusive excerpt on my website, here:

http://meetingivory.wixsite.com/katherinewyvern/spice-and-vanilla-excerpt

Find Spice & Vanilla at Evernight: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/spice-vanilla-by-katherine-wyvern/

Or on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Spice-Vanilla-Katherine-Wyvern-ebook/dp/B07CWFZYFS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1525683799&sr=8-1&keywords=spice+Vanilla+Katherine+wyvern

See what Katherine is up to on:

Katherine’s Blog: https://katherinewyvern.blogspot.fr/

Katherine’s Website: http://meetingivory.wixsite.com/katherinewyvern

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/katherinewyvern

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KatherineWyvern

Or follow her on Instagram @katherinewyvern

#M/M #M/F #gender-queer #cross-dressing

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