I need to run.

I am unbelievably horny, but my caution wins out. It doesn’t matter how nice Rylon is acting now, how he tries to set me at ease. He is a monster, and whatever it is he wants from me, it cannot be good. “Well, it has been lovely, but I really should be going.” Ever so slowly I start backing away from Rylon. To my dismay, he rises to his feet and walks towards me, closing the distance between us.

“No. You stay.”

Shit, time to go. I take one last look at the Grolec, then bolt into the trees. With a colossal growl, I hear him give chase, the thud of his footfalls on the forest floor clearly evident behind me. I zig then zag through the trees, trying to lose him in a denser patch of foliage. It doesn’t work, the footfalls are closer now, louder, my panting breaths and those of the monster behind me breaking the silence of an otherwise still forest.

A minute later and it’s clear that I won’t be outrunning Rylor, he’s right on my heels and only gaining by the second. My heart pounds in terror as I prepare to make my last stand. My resolve hardens as I plant my feet to dump my momentum, turn, and swing my club as hard as possible in a two-handed grip. I feel the jolt up my arm as the wood impacts the Grolec’s face, hear the resounding crack as my makeshift club shatters into splinters upon impact. There is no time to celebrate as the monster’s momentum carries him forward, his bulk barrelling into me.

My world dissolves into a spinning, whirling hell as I am sent flying ass over teakettle into the underbrush by the impact. I land with an “oof” as the air flees me lungs, roll a couple more times, then come to a stop. Groggily, I rise to my feet, confusion muddling my thoughts. I should be in agony right now, but there is no pain at all. All I can feel is a slight weakness and something else, another feeling that I can’t quite figure out. I look around, my eyes fixing on Rylon as he rises from the ground and faces me anew. My body shakes. It shakes in fear, and it shakes with something else, need.

Pushing away the confusing swirl of emotions, I frantically look around for a replacement weapon. At my feet sits a slightly smaller branch that my original weapon, I scoop it up and prepare myself for another charge.

The Rylor walks unsteadily towards me, a large wound on the side of his head where my club had impacted clearly visible, the eye on that side damaged beyond repair. Beyond repair until it isn’t, that is. A small groan of despair escapes my lips as I watch the torn flesh of his wound knit itself together. The eye reforms, focusing on me, full of reproach. Then he speaks to me again.

“That not nice.”

In a rush, he is upon me. I raise my branch in a pathetic defence, but it is too little too late. A mighty swipe of a front leg sends my weapon spinning off into the trees. I watch, helpless, as the follow up swing comes hurtling towards my head. In what time I have left, I lament my fate, transported to another world, only to die in my first encounter.

I am gobsmacked when the strike is stopped dead, a translucent bubble flashing in place around me for the briefest of moments. Strength leaves my body in a torrent, fuel for this barrier that has saved my life. My skull avoids being squashed like an overripe tomato, but the **** that came with the strike still hits me like a train. For the second time in as many minutes, the **** of an impact sends me flying head over heels. With a loud “OMPH”, I come to a stop, the transparent barrier that yet again saved my life brightens, then shatters. The last of my strength flows out of me, leaving my body limp and unable to move at all. My sluggish thoughts attempt to rally as I try to work out whatever the hell is going on, but a wave of tiredness is making it difficult. I am in a seated position, my back propped against something hard and my legs akimbo on the forest floor. My arms hang useless and limp by my sides.

My eyes focus, and I watch as Rylon slowly walks towards me. Then it hits me, a wave of pure animalistic need radiating off of him. I should be terrified of this monster but all I can feel is an overwhelming urge to submit. I want him to claim me, to own me, to breed me. I look deep into my conqueror’s eyes. I can see his usual amusement there, but also a smouldering lust that mirrors my own.

“Mine now.”

The words make me gasp as a wave of submissive delight flows through me, making me shiver. I can feel the dampness between my legs, only growing wetter as my anticipation builds, all thoughts of escape long gone. “Pleeaaase” I moan, the weakness of my body the only thing that’s stopping me tearing off my clothes so I can present my needy, dripping pussy to him, “fuck meeeee”.

“With pleasure.”