Taming the Tiger
Articles / Midnight Isle
Date: Mar 30, 2011 - 10:53 AM
Hard, cold whiskey. That is what tumbled around inside the silver flask before it slipped past the manís lips then burned an agonizing path down his throat. Brooding. Metallic. Fiery in its frigid breath. Tempest, the owner of the popular Screaming Maidenís Club, barely noticed the swallow because its essence mingled perfectly with his own. The dark wood chair beneath his ass was just functional enough to hold his large frame at an angle as he contemplated the body in his bed. One boot was propped up on the bedframe, the other firmly planted on the ground. His forearm balanced on the erect knee, that whiskey-filled flask dangled from his fingertips. What the fuck was he going to do with this new obsession?|
He still had not learned the name of the white were-tiger secured amongst all those silk sheets with one wrist bound to a bedpost. The man slept, regaining much needed strength. Tempest had not been easy on him. It had been both fun and frustrating, but not easy. Finally, Tempest put voice to that burning question, "What am I going to do with you?"
Not once in the whole of the last week had Tempest thought about the woman that offered the white were-tiger as a gift. And not once had Tempest paused to admire this beautiful man that had been handed over to him. Quiet now, with his lusts momentarily sated, his fiery gaze blazed over every inch of pale flesh held captive on his bed.
'What took you so long to find me?' The tiger-manís words. Tempest must have replayed them a thousand times in his mind, wondering if he made them up. Even if he did, one thing was for certain, he had no intention of ever giving freedom to this perfect body chiseled from moonstone. The chair creaked in protest as Tempest swiveled to his feet. Bronzed muscles flexed as he stood and headed toward a bay of shallow drawers housed on the far side of his dungeon/play room. When he returned, a silver syringe dangled alongside the flask. The hard nose plunged into the manís vein. A drug injected. "C'mon on, Fleabag, you gonna sleep all day?"
The pale figure moaned the moment the needle pierced him, a swift breath was drawn while Tempest wiped down the syringe and placed it inside a nightstand drawer. When Tempest glanced back, manís eyelids parted, the pale green color within them was bright as fire. It was enough to make Tempestís heart stop. And his cock to demand attention.
The drug had not won the battle just yet for the prisoner snarled with clear anger, "Fuck off."
Tempest leaned forward. "What? Fuck you? You want me to fuck you again?" One final pull was taken from the silver flask, "Anything you want." Recapping the flask, it was placed on the nightstand before his fingers made quick work of the belt around his waist.
Green eyes followed the flask. He was hungry, tired and his mouth watered for whatever was locked inside that silver. But the moment Tempest grabbed his belt, survival overrode thirst. He pushed with his feet to scoot away and into the solid headboard. A tremble in his hands had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with existing for a week away from his own vices. "Yeah, but I don't think the gods are going to drop a boulder on you. Internal combustion, that might ... be.. something...I could wish for." The words tumbled from his lips in slow motion, "What did you do?"
Tempest draped the belt over the back of the chair, his gaze never wavered from the man. All that pale skin hardened into an erotic display of shadows and highlights that Tempest found far more intoxicating than the whiskey. Even Tempestís cock took notice. Reaching forward, Tempest seized the other manís jaw and he brought himself to within an inch of his lips. "Not what I wanted to do." His touch was not gentle although his eyes held the light of passion set ablaze.
The were-tiger stared into Tempestís crimson eyes. That green fire slowly glazed over, the drug was winning and the world began to haze away. "You drugged me?" The tone in his voice contained the pain of betrayal. After everything that Tempest has done, how ironic that only now he chose to be offended. Vision doubled. His body grew heavy. The desire to fight just drifted away. "No, wait. Ssshit... what is this?"
Tempest lowered then, the kiss hard and swift. "Relax. I've been watching you all night long. I think I want to just watch you for a week." He doesn't care what that fucking sounds like. It's the truth. There isn't an inch of this man that he'd change. Even the look of betrayal trying to cloud his features was a mask of perfection. One knee slid onto the bed. "I've been waiting hours for you to wake up. What did you dream about? Tell me." One hand fisted into that wealth of white hair, pulling it into a tight, controlling lump at the base of his skull.
But the were-tiger was not going to surrender to kind words. He had one final struggle inside him. A massive attempt at freedom, he thrashed hard against the body before him. His knee came up to collide with the leather clad thigh, just as he raked his hard nails across his captorís bronze stomach. Four deep furrows opened and instantly gushed blood out over his torso.
Tempest was stunned, not even registering the burning pain, ďFUCK!Ē
Defiant to his last breath, the tiger man hooked a foot around Tempestís leg and he yanked outward, causing Tempest to collapse forward. Tempest reached up to regain control of that free hand while knees battled for supremacy. His cock was a hard reminder that even in battle, this man possessed the power to arouse him.
Determined to make the best of the little freedom he had gained, the were-tiger launched his free hand upward then slammed his elbow down on his captorís arm. The sweet call of blood swam through his senses, it was hot and fragrant, and it wove a song through his drugged mind. He opened his mouth and chomped down hard upon the one thing in front of him: the solid, meaty muscle between Tempestís neck and shoulder.
Tempest 's temper exploded when those fangs bit deep into him. No longer was the song in his blood seductive. It now promised death and more. Brimstone surged through through the river of blood. Small horns burst free from Tempestís forehead and leathery, black bat wings expanded free from his back. Fangs elongated and become a prominent threat. His feral growl was ripe with pain and rage. Fingers tangled around the icy length of hair in his hand and he gave a hard yank to tear the tiger-man away from his neck. His whole hot, glorious body arched upwards giving him just enough space to use his other fist as a battering ram to the manís pale face.
The tigerís senses overwhelmed him even before Tempest connects. The powerful stench of the manís unholy blood should have been revolting. But he found it smokey and fragrant and erotically powerful. A single swallow burned its way down his throat before he was yanked away. Time slowed, and all of him became aware of the comforting warmth that quieted his hunger and thirst as it hits his belly. Then white light exploded through his consciousness thanks to Tempestís fist. Then nothing. His body fell slack.
Tempest howled. Tossing the white head away, hot demonic blood continued to rain down upon the unconscious man before him. He bolted to the nearest mirror, of which there were many so that he could see himself from every angle while disciplining someone. Bastard tiger took a sizable chunk from his throat! That fucker!! Thankfully his demonic nature will prevent him from becoming infected by the moon curse. But it still burned like shit! Growling again, he cast a pissed off glare in the direction of the body before stomping off toward the bathroom. "You fucking did it now, Tommy-Boss!Ē That was the only name that Tempest has been given. ďYou could have had it good but NOOOOOO, you had to be a difficult punk!" A towel is grabbed and wadded up, shoved hard against the vicious wound before he thundered back to glare once more at the body on the bed, "You lost your chance at freedom."
This article comes from Midnight Realms
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