TW: NON-CON, DRUGGING, KIDNAPPING. 18+
The last thing you could vividly recall before falling asleep wrapped in animal fur blankets was the flickering light and warmth from the fireplace. Soft crackles and the gentle, soothing noise of König's humming filled the silence between the sound of him flipping to the next page of his book. Something animal related. Something German, you assumed. Dog-eared, the spine wrinkled and worn down. A clearly loved and treasured item of his.
You felt your vision fog, but paid no mind to the sudden drowsiness washing over your weakened figure. Limbs outstretched, belly up, too trusting for your own good. Comforted by the domestic sounds of life. These were the moments where you could pretend that you and König were nothing more than a perfectly matched couple. Perhaps high-school sweethearts. That this was all consensual and not brought upon you against your will. That maybe, just maybe, he wasn't holding you here for his own selfish desire.
You slipped into a peaceful slumber, dozing off at the aroma of the fireplace oak wood burning and the soothing scent of his spicy, musky aftershave - a reminder that you weren't alone. You weren't sure whether to be comforted or disturbed by the fact.
Amber reflected onto the walls which caged you in, the barely audible jingle of the cool, metal shackle holding you down, slicing into the soft of your heel when you tugged at it too aggressively when frustrated. A harsh reminder to where you stood beside König, your role in his home. The crushing reality that belonged to you. Your fate.
You awoke to the heat all around you at once. Suffocating. Impeding down your throat and spreading across your skin. Like flames, a blaze.
Stirring from your peaceful slumber, you let out a groggy groan, sleep evident in the sounds of your petulant whining when the heat worked its way down your body. Fingers came to tug at the neckline of the sweatshirt borrowed from König - much larger, falling off your body like rags, but atlas, keeping you snug for the harsh Austrian winters.
Much to your surprise (and expected horror), your fingers were not met with the fuzzy fabric of the wool. Instead, bare and clammy skin.
Your eyes darted wide, doe-eyed, fearful and cowering. You shrunk in on yourself as you scanned your surroundings, a dark, nude, and recognisably tall figure prying your plush thighs apart, folds already glistening against the light from the fire, sweat rolling off the man's muscular chest like he'd been at your holes for a few brutal rounds already before you so rudely disturbed him. And by the ache and burn and throb that intensified between your legs, you feared that was the case.
Blunt fingernails cut deep into the supple fat on your hips, feeling impossibly full as he further nudged his way deep inside, to be met with the scratchy and tinging sensation of dark, curly pubes at your smooth rear. Much larger hands greedily groped and grabbed, laying his perverse gaze on your figure - stretched out to the point of discomfort, trembling like you were fragile and would shatter with the gentlest of touch, weakened after being speared on his throbbing, pulsating cock for what could've possibly been hours.
You could only helplessly shrug off his touch before it wandered further, to more sensitive and private areas - more specifically the swollen nub at the apex of your thighs, coated in a smear of what appeared to be your own shine and a mixture of release from the male ahead of you. If you could even call him that.
To you, he was a predator; a wolfish grin curling the sides of his scarred lips, contorting his face into something hideous - it made you retch, swallowing the bile before it had the chance to rise and spill.
Your drugged limbs pushed and tugged at the grubby hands, smeared across your once clean skin, exploring in ways that forced your barely conscious body to react, a biological need inside of you fluttering for more. You could barely conceal the broken sob-slash-whine that escaped your quivering, wobbling lips. He could only coo in that pitiful tone, thrusting his broad hips into you with a new found passion and thrill as uncontrolled sounds and meek noises left you.
And despite the way you shook your head that you didn't really want this, you found yourself having a hard time believing the words you'd stuttered out. Cries replaced with pleased moans. Slaps of your fists against his brute chest replaced with slaps of sweaty skin against your behind.
After all, not even you could pretend that your velvety walls weren't sucking him right back inside, even deeper, when his hips retreated, you pulled him back, the head of his large size contaminating your body with beads of salty, potent cum that he'd been fantasising of filling you with. To the brim, where you were plugged full, stomach bulging, eyes glossy from pure bliss.
Oh, Mouse. Look at you! Wouldn't it be much easier to relax, allow him to move your body in ways you never thought it would? Reach places your dainty fingers could never reach?