MOVED TO KIWI--DICK @candy-diick - Tumblr Blog

Nov 29, 2023

Shadow Revenant Gets Laid

Chapter 10 - Loba Words: 6475 Warnings: DUBCON (Lots of Conflicting Emotion); (Flashback: Gore, Blood, Death, Dismemberment, Trauma, Hypothermia, People get FUCKED up) Dacryphilia, Degradation, Spanking, Temperature Play, Slapping, Whump (?), Spitting

To say the King has no enemies would be a liar’s statement.

The King has gained many-- over the thousands of years he has ruled. Countless assassins sent to try and slay the God overlooking the Canyon, and desperate villagers wanting to end the nightmare enslaving their waking days. One by one, each has fallen to the legions of the Shadow Court. Would-be killers fell beneath the blades of the Hunter, and vengeful civilians would be quickly slain by the Knight’s terrifying rapier.

Some managed to get closer than others. But the Witch or the Cyborg took those lives too; allowing none to get to the very heart of their King. And anyone who breached the ring of guards surrounding the Shadow King? Well, Revenant would like to think that they were welcomed in his Court-- one way or another.

How many had been victims of the oppressive reign of terror? How many people have been slain for daring to revolt against the rightful ruler of this land? How many nameless faces, and lost voices; forgotten to winds, and left to rot underneath the heels of the Court?

Marcos Andrade had been quite a wealthy, normal man. He stole money, he stole lives, he did nothing but cheat and rob people of their assets and resources. All to funnel a lavish life for his darling wife, and his most priceless jewel. When the first hints of city people being slaughtered began to float around, Marcos turned his attention to furnishing a protected fortress-- one to wait out this madness and end-of-the-world conspiracies. He was ever so convinced that he would survive whatever this was, and walk out the other side unscathed and richer than ever.

This fantasy was built upon a glass platform, inside the dredges of a raging river.

Loba remembered the day so vividly. Her father and mother smiling, laughing, exchanging loving remarks and little quips she didn’t quite understand. Marcos taking her little hands and squeezing them tight, his voice speaking so softly to her.

"Ai meu xêro, te amo tanto."

Passing over a beautiful sculptured wolf’s head, glinting silver so bright in the restaurant’s candlelight. She remembered holding it in her hands-- so big then, comparatively. Turning it over and over again in her fingertips, like she could memorize every groove in the silver right then and there.

Glass shattering-- a noise that could make her ears bleed. She’ll never get over that sound, never forget it. A blur-- her mother taking her in the arms, and holding her tightly against her chest; screaming as wisping shadows pour in through the jagged hole in the large window, overlooking the flickering city lights.

Lights that begin to fade as a billowing blanket of darkness rolls overhead, like the world’s most devastating storm. Her father calls to her mother, telling her to go, to take her, go-- but the worlds are choked out into nothing, as a massive rapier splits through the front of his chest.

Loba had never seen so much blood before. It flows like a stream, staining the white suit of her father, as he gurgles and chokes on his own viscera. The rapier slices through him cleanly, like her father were nothing more than a freshly cut meat at the butchers’. The body collapses to the ground in two pieces, and the Knight withdraws his blade. One long, metal finger smears over the sharp edge, sparks flying as he wipes blood off the golden weapon, and steps over the body like it were simply trash-- to approach the next kill.

The light fading from her father’s eyes is not something she could ever hope to scrub from her memories.

Her eyes are torn from the body littering the smooth tile when her mother screams, and holds her even tighter. Her body jerks back, and she smells scalding flesh. Loba doesn’t look up much further when her eyes capture the gaze of the Demônio.

A tall, billowing column of smoke and ash, standing over the carnage with the glowing red eyes of a hellbeast. Leaning over her, and her mother-- his arm outstretched and burrowed into the smoldering hole punched through her mother’s face. Blood pools down her mother’s neck, and it drips onto Loba’s face, as she stares-- unable to look away from the hellfire before her.

The Demônio does not kill her. He slaughters many, but the children? They get to live on. One wispy finger moves up to press to where lips would be, and a low, “Sshhhhh,” burrows into her mind. Sickening and dark-- it makes her want to vomit.

Her mother’s body falls limp when the Shadow King pulls back, slumping over against Loba as blood spills from the gaping wound in her face. And with a small gesture to the soldiers behind him, the Demônio turns away, and he leaves her behind. The child, left behind, in the wake of violence and tyranny.

Loba never forgets that night. For she sits there for a long time, until tears begin to stain her face, and she feels very cold. A presence seeping in, twisting in her throat until she can no longer contain it. She screams until her throat burns, until she can no longer breathe, and that cold, unforgiving darkness burrows so deep in her heart, that she no longer felt anything but that for a long time.

Passed around from family to family, Loba finds her place in the world soon enough. The underground is burrowed deep enough that those wisping shadows hardly find their way there. People deal weapons and drugs, succumbing to the vices of the darkness, and some of the crazier ones ramble drunkenly about hunting down the Shadow King, and restoring their places as mankind, top of the world.

The undead and the creatures of the night are dealt here and there too. Bound arachnids, starved and caged, for people to siphon venom from for their weapons. Cyborgs dealing their services of maintenance for under the table cash, and strangely pale figures being trailed by large, misshapen creatures.

It is here Loba finds her calling. She finds her people; a kindred spirit named Jaime, whom she works with. Dealings of stolen artifacts and weapons, sold to the highest bidder, or added to her impressive collection. Loba studies each one just as intensely as the last, judging, sorting, organizing. Jaime once asks her what she was truly looking for, as Loba runs her nails over an impressive dagger, filled with potent venom.

As darkness encircles her heart, she simply answers, “Vengeance.”

It comes to a head when she retrieves a simple device from an unknown barterer. A pale man, dressed to hide his face, offers her a “Kill Code”-- and when she takes it, she believes it too good to be true. “I designed it myself,” the masked man says quietly, to avoid being heard in the bustling underground.

“What does it do?” Loba says idly, turning over the innocuous USB in her fingertips. The masked man looks around anxiously. Too many eyes. Too many potential attackers. Antsy.

“빨리가자,” he grumbles to himself, before he glances around, to make sure no one was looking. “It will work against anything of a mechanical nature. And that… thing. It’s mechanical at its core. You’ll kill it in one move, if you get close enough.”

“How much?” Loba asks, clutching it a little tighter. It sounded too good to be true. But after years, and years, and years of quelling a coldness inside her, she was willing to take a risk on anything that brought her closer to her goal.

“Free, with a refundable down, if you succeed.” The masked man waves a hand. “조심해-- if you fail, you die. And if you somehow live, I’ll discount it.” He holds his hand outstretched expectantly. “Unless… you don’t want it?”

Loba had never been so quick to stuff a wad of cash in someone’s hand.

Nothing left to lose-- she packs her weapons. A staff, with her father’s sculpture fashioned to the top, her venomous blade, her bracelet, and this… USB stick. She sneaks into the Canyon under the cover of night. Like many before, she follows the waterfall path. A dangerous cliff face, slippery and wet, overlooking a jagged river of rocks and rushing rapids below.

Death by the raging waters, or death by the Shadow King. With how desperate she has been to finally end this nightmare, she chooses to climb. Fingers digging so hard into the rocks until blood fills her nails, and face scraping against sharpened stone, she finds her way across a half a mile of eroded cliff, beneath a frigid spray of icy water, until her feet finally hit a solid, flat surface, and she collapses forward.

Chest heaving, skin so very cold. She felt like she was nearly frozen solid, laying on dirt and stone, until she finally caught her breath. Stiff fingers unstrap her jacket and she leaves it behind-- soaked down to the bone, and her lips nearly blue, Loba treks onward.

The mountain path leads down into the Canyon, and when she comes across a scattering of old, rotted buildings, she ducks low, creeping through the tall grass silently. This is where the Shadow Court resided-- legends told of their domain by the hidden cave, where the King himself lived. She just needed to get inside there, and she would finally--

That cold that had seeped so deep into her skin never faded. She stumbles, and her near frozen hands shook. Something was near. The very ground rumbled underneath her, and she curses silently to herself. Fumbling hands try to retrieve her knife, and yet, a strong gust of icy wind hits her. It sends her back a few steps, and she braces against it, gritting her teeth and biting her tongue so hard, she tasted blood.

When she managed to open her eyes against the storm, she was horrified to see the wispy minions, rising from the ground like the dead. A spirit stood before her, decorated with flowers and face paints from her funerary processions, and besides her, the King formed from the darkness.

Shadows crack, and reform, until a solid metal husk is left behind in the wake of the shadows. Loba doesn’t give either time to speak. She lunges forward with an angered screech-- splitting the ears, echoing in the Canyon’s expanse, and she tries so desperately to plunge this USB into the first port she can find; to finally kill this Demônio who made her life hell.

The Spirit’s hand snaps out, and a solidly unsolid force manages to catch her. Ice upon ice, darkness touching darkness, and Loba tries to swing her other hand out; venomous blade looking to slice into whatever it can reach. And Loba screams and screams as she tries.

She tries. She tries. She tries. She tries.

The Shadow King merely plucks this useless USB stick from her hands, and he crushes it between his fingertips like it were no more than a meddlesome bug in his grasp. Loba continues her cries; sinking down as the Spirit cracks her wrist in two for her crime.

The pain blinds her, and the oxygen stolen from her, Loba’s last vision before she succumbs to hypothermia is the Spirit, the King, and the masked man approaching them slowly.

Her first death is lonely, pathetic and cold.

Her second arises when she awakens, skin blue and cold, and lunges for the first person she sees. Nails digging into the neck of the Medic, screeching so loud that the glass shatters behind her. A panicked response from the Medic is a bite to her wrists, and Loba dies once more; the venom boils her blood until heat causes her heart to stop.

Her third death is when her heart is shocked back to life, and she digs her nails back into the skin of the first thing she grasps; a thin wrist, and the Inventor cries out in agony. The Witch plunges the stolen venomous blade into Loba’s heart, and she dies before the poison can cause her to bleed out her eyes and lips.

When Loba awakens in her next life, the ice has made its home underneath her skin, and she is left laying in the frigid, shallow waters of the Canyon. The Shadow Court stood around her, watching as the Banshee arose, sluggish and confused. Eyes darting around as she tries to get herself in some defensive stance; trying to protect herself--

And the King, standing before them all, simply laughs. His booming voice echoes across the valley, and he waves one hand above her; his blessing given as he speaks.

“Anyone with a fighting spirit as strong as yours is welcome in my Court of Shadows. Welcome, to King’s Canyon, Loba Andrade.”

It was not the first time she tried to kill him. It is not the last time she tries. An undead, a Banshee, has thousands of days and hours to fill, and she spends them thinking of how she could finally end this Demônio. He doesn’t succumb to normal means; poisons and sharp tools, gasses and drowning. The King doesn’t need to breathe; has no true bloodstream to infect. And even in his mechanical forms, she never gets more than a few choice shots in before she’s ripped away from him.

Torn back by the Spirit and the Visitor, kicking and screeching until your ears would bleed-- the Knight and the Monster standing in front of their King. Even as a part of this wicked “Court,” she has no power here.

Eventually, years and years will pass. Her anger never falters, but she does not try as often as the first few decades. She finds her place once more here, in the dark valleys. She learns the name of her fellow Court.

Anita apologizes for her actions, stating her very existence here is owed to their King. Loba rips her broken wrist away, spitting venom, “He is not my King.” But eventually, she allows her arm to be splint, and the pair share many late night conversations as time goes on.

Kairi snickers, taunting her with her inability to finish the job. Loba wants to take her staff and plunge it right between that girl’s eyes. But eventually, harsh teasing fades to light jabs, and that even fades into early morning talks over a coffee, and then to ice cold lips against strange, smooth skin.

Time continued on.

Loba learns more about the other creatures of the night here. The masked man with pale skin apologized softly, and accepted it when she lunged for his neck to kill him for how he betrayed her. However, a vampire cannot be choked to death, no matter how much she tries. Tae Joon seems genuinely remorseful, so it only takes a few years before she forgives him.

She learns about herself. A banshee, born from the sorrow and darkness that had swallowed her as a child, unleashed by her desperate rage to kill the Shadow King and his gift of life to her. Her skin is cold; blue frozen fingers with sharp, jagged claws that she eventually learns to fashion into stilettos. Her cry was so loud, it could be heard across the valley. In the beginning, she used it commonly. Untapped anger spilled and flowed as easily as blood, and she never tried to quell it until exhaustion overtook her.

Time changes her. Her anger dampens, and she falls into place. Kairi moves her into a damp, rotted little cabin, and Loba helps her fix it up into something more comfortable, more fitting for her tastes. Even years later, Loba has a unique taste that Kairi is happy to fill.

And yet she never forgets, never forgives, and will always be prepared to slaughter him. The Demônio.

She overhears it one day by complete accident. There’s an old warehouse where they get shipments to. Loba never gives up her expensive tastes, so sometimes, she indulges with requests. After all, the Demônio never seems to say no to whatever his Court asks for, so she might as well milk it for all it’s worth.

Today? Some beautifully scented soaps and perfumes. She’s planning a date for her and Kairi, and god forbid they use the “natural springs” to cleanse themselves. It was enough, Kairi would always insist. But it wasn’t enough for Loba, and so she helps herself when it comes to this bi-weekly request.

The warehouse is packed this late in the afternoon. Natalie and Renee are both sorting through the boxes of fabric the former ordered, giggling here and there about what Nessies would look like in this or that! Alexander is properly inspecting the coffee beans this week-- more than off-put when he found a stray weevil cruising along the sealed boxes a few weeks back. (Despite Mary’s insistence that it was probably safe to still consume!)

Makoa is chatting with Jimmy over a box of silky blankets, both testing the strength and durability after convincing each other that it couldn’t possibly be stronger than either of them! (It was.) Elliott and Tae Joon are arguing over who ordered that and this and that box there, near tearing the shipment manifest in two to try and determine what belonged to who.

Loba ignores the riff-raff and rabble. Heels clicking against stone, she walks right up to an untouched pallet, using a single nail to slice through plastic holding together the boxes from shaking in transit. Cutting through tape, she opens the first box to inspect the wares. Bottles of various perfumes, soaps, salts, lotions-- it all welcomes her with a pleasant aroma. She inhales deeply, holds it for a small moment, before she slowly breathes out. Collecting one or two for now to tuck under her arms.

“--And he really did whimper like a dog, Nats. It was kind of cute.”

“Oh, yes yes! I find it musical, do you not?”

Ears perk to attention. Ah? Natalie and Renee, both in agreement over someone acting in a less than wholesome way? This, she has to listen in on. She picks up a third bottle, pretending to read the back. Ah, what was in this again…?

“I think we should approach him together, Renee! He would certainly be reduced to nothing more than those pretty little sounds.”

“I will say, it is tempting, hun. I always enjoy how you treat me, but watching you with someone else like that? I’d be jealous if the thought didn’t sound so nice.”

Ah, so hibiscus and other assorted scents? What possibly could be among those…

“I heard he’s better now! Ajay told me Octavio was why he was bedridden a bit. She had to dispose of a whole collection of sterile eggs. I of course requested she send me some later, I want to experiment on those!”

“Huh, turns out the great and mighty Shadow King can’t take everything, ey?”

Her grip on the smooth, plastic bottle tightens. Her throat tightens, her eyes widen. Did they--?

“I think we could check in with him later, darling. Surely, Revenant’s very head would explode if we approached him nude?”

“Ehhh, Nats, I don’t really have that kind of confidence you do. ‘Sides, the undressing is the fun part, in my mind.”

“Oui, I agree!”

Loba whips her head around, no longer able to hide her eavesdropping. Nails nearly punctures the bottle as she approaches the pair in two quick strides. With a hushed, angered voice, she hisses, “What in the hell are you two talking about?!”

Renee seems taken aback by the sudden third party, but Natalie doesn’t skip a beat. She’s folding up a length of fabric as she chirps, “Oh, we were just speaking about our King!”

“That Demônio is not my--”

“He's certainly been having a fun time with a few of us now, oui, Renee?” Natalie turns her smile to said person, who mumbles something unintelligible and doesn’t meet the furious eyes of the Banshee.

“What the hell do you mean about that?” Loba demands, her hand clenching, unclenching. Trying to keep her wild anger in check. To draw too much attention right now might compromise her attempts to acquire more information.

“We’ve… he’s been--” Renee stammers over her words. “He’s uh… you see…”

“A good lot of us have been having sex with him! It’s been lovely, he’s quite submissive I would say,” Natalie laughs lightly, like she finds the thought lovely rather than repulsive. Loba could hardly think of any way that bastard could be fuckable. Did he even have the parts for that!?

“And just why have you been partaking in that with someone like that-- irritating, horrible--” Loba begins, but Natalie cuts her off with one, cute little finger-wag.

“Now now, Loba. Do not dismiss it before you try. Of course, I know you do not like him, but Renee and I are rather fond of him, and so are a few of us here! You may hate him as much as you desire, but I will not hear it here, do you understand?”

This scolding has her cheeks darken, warmth prickling along her face, and she stutters and tries to find something to retort with. But by the time her mouth catches up with her brain, Renee and Natalie have quickly absconded with their finds, leaving Loba in the dust.

Do not dismiss it before you try? Why on this hellish earth would she ever…

Loba hates to admit that she thinks about it. She imagines knocking him down a few pegs. If he’s as submissive as Natalie says, wouldn’t it be gratifying to have him at her mercy in any way? Begging her, and only her, for some ending, some release of any kind? She wanted to kill him, and he couldn’t die. In this life, he would never be able to die beneath her hand.

But she could break him in other ways.

She thinks about it longer than she would like. She wonders how he would cry. How he would beg her, and she could make him beg endlessly? Could she break him? Hit him, hurt him, degrade him until he was so beat down, all he could do was grovel at her feet? The idea was so surprisingly intoxicating, she finds herself conflicted. Even if she got the gratification from torturing him like so, if the Shadow King found it arousing, would she still find herself satisfied?

She speaks to Kairi on the matter. Kairi is… indifferent. Always has been a “fly your own path” kind of girl. Most of the time, Loba appreciated it. Now, she finds it not the least bit helpful. Still, it is… comforting to know her girlfriend does not care if Loba went to break the Demônio into submitting to her control.

Loba debates with herself for a full month before she finds her answer.

The King’s quarters are no longer a mystery to her. She’s been in the Throne Room, been in the Treasury, thrown him to the ground here and there to try and kill him. Even now, stepping into the darkened halls, she knows she is watched. The Knight sits hidden in the dark; all lights dimmed to nothingness, and a constant guard for the King. She feels that singular optic trained onto her the moment she enters.

“Calm down, I’m not here to kill him today,” Loba hisses, but the gaze never ceases. Studies her, determining her intentions with a simple stare. Perhaps it is too obvious, for it does not immediately kick her to the side as she was afraid it would.

Loba straightens her overcoat, hiding a form-fitting, luscious-red bodysuit underneath. She would entice the King, as much as the thought is conflicting in her mind, and break him as she desired. She wanted this, even when it felt off. She wanted nothing more than to destroy the hellfire, one way or another. And who’s to say she can’t get off in the act of revenge?

The only sound in the silence is her heels against cobbled stone, as she makes her way down a hallway deeper into the cave. The only light is a single lantern by the entrance, which she uses to light a candlestick in her grasp before continuing.

She’s not been this way before. She never made it past the Knight. Perhaps she could…? No. She knew he could not die, and she tried. Now, she will break him beneath her heel, and he will worship her instead. The thought spurs her to walk quicker. Eager to find the room of the Shadow King.

Revenant has been resting since his midnight tryst with that little arachnid brat a week ago. He had been knocked clean into exhaustion afterwards, and cleanup was a nightmare, to say the least. He remembered being stuck with Ajay in the medical bay for a few hours, quivering as his body tried to slowly expel those deliciously large eggs Octavio had left inside him previously.

Who knew about 13 orgasms in one night could take someone out so intensely?

Blanketed in silk sheets, he arises from his nap when he hears the approaching heels of a visitor. Ah, was Natalie paying him a visit? He certainly would enjoy her bubbly-sweet attention in his lazy state. Sitting up with a bit of a struggle, he cracks his neck back and forth, slowly reforming into a more organic, flesh form. Blond hair tousled, dressed in just a tank top and boxers, he yawns. The sharp tapping of a hand against the doorframe gets his attention quickly.

“Come in,” he calls, still feeling quite lazy, and not at all motivated to properly get up. However, when Loba steps through the beaded curtain, expression unreadable, Revenant quickly stiffens, straightening his posture and staring at her with a slightly shocked expression.

What in the hell was she doing here?

“Loba, I--”

“Shut your mouth, Demônio. I know what you have been getting up to-- slinking around like a disgusting pest.” Her tone is sharp, crisp, like a whip cracking across the stone room. Revenant actually winces at the sound, fingers digging into the blanket. What was she--

When she unbuttons her coat, allowing it to drop to the ground, Revenant realizes very quickly what she was talking about. His eyes immediately are glued right to her frame. How the bodysuit clings tightly to her wonderfully shaped breasts, squeezing muscle and plush skin all over. And especially how it accentuated her deliciously plump rear. He is ashamed to admit how quickly his cock stirs-- gods, he was really trained to expect this kind of thing now huh?

He couldn’t expect everyone in his Court to come and fuck him now, could he?

And yet, what else could Loba want, dressed like so? He didn’t want to assume, so he just tried to casually pull the blankets up a little higher to hide how hard he was already getting. “What are you talking--”

“I said, shut up.” Loba is at his side in seconds, and her hand strikes his cheek so quickly, the shock nearly mutes the pain that blooms under the skin. Loba thinks to herself how nice it is to have him in this form. Easier to hurt, and bruise, and mark as her little bitch. The idea has her quite… heated.

Revenant moves a hand up slowly to the reddening mark on his cheek, fingers touching the skin; warm from the strike. His first instinct is to be enraged. To call in his Knight, and have the robot throw Loba right back into the icy lake and drown her again.

But another part of him is… curious. He’s had his fair share of the Court members that he's bedded act less than nice to him. And he’s found, sometimes, it was nice to be shoved down to the ground and forced to lick the boots of Anita, or have Ajay’s “clinical” nature edge him endlessly. Sometimes, it was more than hot. He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to see how far this would go.

Swallowing his pride, his eyes raise up to look at her. Rage, anger, the power of a banshee before him. Something he could take down with just a word. But he bites the bait, and submits.

Sinking down to the ground, he kneels before Loba, head bowed in that act of giving himself to her. And Loba is more than pleased with how easy it is. Truly, a bottom bitch like he deserved to be. Her nails dig into his scalp, and she grabs him by the hair, yanking his head up to look at him. Examining his human form. Rarely, she got to see this. It was vulnerable, after all, and the Shadow King knew better than to be that way around her.

“Pathetic. You allow yourself to be used by anyone, you bastard?” Loba uses her free hand to grip his chin, nails pressing so sharply into his skin that she draws pinpricks of blood. Revenant winces, biting his tongue to suppress any cries or moans that threatened to escape him. He nods slowly, in response to her question. She scoffs.

“Of course. You’re no King to anyone-- really, you’re nothing more than a fuckdoll for your so-called ‘minions.’ Is that all you’re good for-- to be used by us?” Loba shoves him back, and he grunts when his back slams into the bedframe. Fuck, that hurt. But it hurt so good, that he feels his hands clench into fists, and his cock stiffening further beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.

Loba isn’t dumb-- she notices how his cock strains against the confines of his undergarments, but she could care less about his sexual benefit. If he enjoyed this, she sure as hell wouldn’t be helping him find his release so easily. She fists her hand into his hair again, and throws him aside; that Banshee strength has him crashing into his dresser with a cracking sound-- wood or bone, she couldn’t care.

Revenant cries out with a wheezing gasp, as pain further blooms in his ribs. He feels hot shame flood him when he realizes how much he likes it. How much he enjoys being tossed around and treated like a lesser lifeform; like how he often treated so many mortals nowadays. To have the same violence shown against him was terrifyingly arousing-- and he wanted more.

The Banshee approaches him, ice frosting her fingertips and lips. Her eyes aglow with an anger he was all too familiar with. He was surprised how enticing it was. She reaches down, and he genuinely flinches in fear over what she wanted to do next. He can see how she reacts to that-- a grin spreading over her painted lips. Her claws dig into his skin again when she grips his chin, and she orders him, "On your hands and knees, you pathetic Demônio."

The authority in her voice makes him feel less than the King he is. And it makes him obey; like the good pet he is. He shakes as he shifts into the commanded position when she releases his face; hands and knees placed onto the cold, stone floor. So so cold, it hurts-- most likely due to how close this icy demon was to him. He swallows thickly, staring at the smooth floor, waiting for what feels like an eternity--

His boxers are yanked down, and he squeaks in surprised; color flooding his pale skin. He feels a bit dizzy when his cock bobs free-- flushed an angry red and so hard against his thighs. Pre beads at the tip, and he wishes Loba would touch him-- stroke him to completion with her voice snarling disgusting insults into his ear--

A frigid hand connects with his rear, and he cries out in shock. His whole body jolts forward, and he feels a strong pulse of arousal radiate throughout his body, as well as burning shame. Loba laughs cruelly at the reaction, watching as color blooms underneath the skin. Such a soft, fleshy person he was now; so easy to break and bleed.

"Here's the deal, your Highness--" She says in a mocking tone. "I will hit you, and you will like it. And you will shut your mouth and the only thing I better hear is a number. You're going to count, and if you mess up, we're going to start over. Sound clear?"

Revenant opens his mouth to speak, but she hits him again; this time, on the unmarked skin. It's so cold, and she holds no mercy behind the strike, that he barely bites down the cry that threatens to leave him. He swallows once, twice, and shakily goes, "O-One?"

"Wrong. That was two. Now start over." And her palm slaps him again; biting ice making the skin angry and red. Revenant jerks forward with the motion, and his whole body shivers, as he tries so desperately to keep quiet.

"One--!"

"Good." And again.

"Two.

Three.

F-four--!"

Each strike is harder than the last; the skin on her palm covered in a thin blanket of frost. The cold does little to numb the pain, Revenant feels, rather, it seems to exemplify it. And he's gripping his hands into tight fists to not sob underneath each strike. It's hard to think. How long did she say she was going to hit him?

"Fiv-five--ugh--!

Sssix--

Sev-en!!"

The skin on his rear is raw and red and bruising already. The frost nearly cuts into him on each strike, but her nails do when she is careless on the next. Blood painting his flesh bright red in contrast to her greying skin. Tears pinprick at the corners of his eyes.

"Eigh-t.

N-n-n-ine--"

The next one she strikes him on the lower part of his rear, her talons catching at his thigh. He chokes on a cry, dropping his head into the stone floor with a shuddering gasp. It hurts, it burns, and his cock is still so fucking hard. Leaking a steady stream of pre onto the ground; god, he wished she would touch him already.

"El-ev-en--?"

When he hears a pleased giggle behind him, he knows he fucks up. If he weren't already cold from how her frost seems to spread over him on each strike, he knew he would be frigid from how his blood runs ice-cold.

"Hmmmm~ Wrong, Demônio~"

Loba strikes him harshly; a sizeable gash left behind on the back of his thigh. Revenant screams out at the flash of white-hot pain, and the tears at the back of his eyes seem to finally spill out; streaming down his face as he devolves into weak whimpers.

The sound of him breaking down has arousal flooding her veins; scalding compared to the ice in her heart. She growls lowly at that, digging her talons into his arm to throw him onto his back. "Ohhh, look at that-- the high and mighty King of Shadows-- reduced to this~?"

She smiles as she sees the sight of him. Bruises blooming across his unmarred, pale skin, shivering from the cold that she had seeped into his flesh, and hot tears leaking down his face. How pathetic-- those big blue eyes, blubbering like a sad dog. She scoffs, and then she laughs. And Revenant only shakes underneath her.

Sniffing like the sad little thing he is, his cock never waning even as pain radiates throughout his delicate, human frame. He deserved this-- he knew it. He was so pathetic in the presence of her, and he did little to deserve even an inch of her time. Still-- he wanted so desperately for her to make him cum, and even if she insulted him, he wanted her to pull him close to her and jerk him off.

"Look at what a sad thing you are, Revenant."

The sound of his name on her lips has his hips jerking upwards.

The sight of his tears has her hungry for more.

"What a mess I can make you, hmm~?" Loba coos in a faux-concerned voice, kneeling down in front of him. She reaches out to his face again, and he tenses up, hiccupping as fresh tears spring to his eyes. Fear. Arousal. Confliction. All so easily read on a human face. She craves that; how often could she swing by, whenever she was upset? How often could she make him sob beneath her heel, and have him beg for more?

She supposes she could properly train him to want this as much as she did. Her fingers carefully grip his face, and he shudders, sniveling like a pathetic creature. His tears feel like fire against her skin when they make contact. She spits on his face, and he sobs in response.

Beautifully pathetic.

"Some king you are," Loba hisses, her other hand raising up; just to watch him flinch, and his hips jerk in response to that fear. She slaps him, and he chokes on a whine. Tensing up--

Revenant cums untouched; cock jerking violently as ropes of cum spill from him. The flesh so dark and flushed from need, pulsing and aching, as he dissolves into a fit of proper sobs. Loba smiles wickedly at the sight, and she stands up after shoving his face back, watching him tremble and shake as his climax rolls through him in heavy waves.

When the orgasm fades, he's just left cold and shivering and messy with his own blood and cum staining his clothes, his floor. Not even daring to stare at her as he tries to stifle his cries.

Loba walks past him, heels clicking against the stone floor as she heads for the door. "Clean yourself up, slut," she hums, and she disappears behind the curtain, her steps echoing down the hallway as she leaves. She feels so hot, so worked up, she knows she will be paying her darling girlfriend a visit tonight.

Revenant curls up a bit, trying to calm the fear left behind in the wake of the arousal ebbing away from him. He's not left shivering for long, however. Metal hands soon slide gently underneath him, and are careful to not disturb him too much. Even still, he flinches at the cool hands, sucking in a sharp breath.

Not Loba.

He's carried to the baths, where two sets of hands bathe him; one metal, one flesh. They clean him thoroughly, even when exhaustion kicks in. The gashes cleaned and taped up, and the bruises gently massaged with a salve. And then, the same metal hands tuck him underneath his layers of blankets.

And Revenant, utterly drained, falls into a fitful sleep. Nightmares plagued by ice; and yet, he craves it still.

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