“The rope leaves behind such pretty marks…you’re like a work of art.” - Trenton and Burcu
That twinge of worry was a new impulse for Burcu. He didn't know it at the time, but it was prey instinct brought on by a gut feeling. 'Run, hide!' it told him, but to no avail. Trenton still tracked him down, shredded his clothes, and started tying him up despite how the omega struggled and pleaded.
However ... Trenton possessed a deep, threatening growl that undercut Burcu's fear with arousal. He possessed a dizzying musk that made the omega go cross-eyed. Panic was instinctual for prey, but not even that could make his body forget.
Burcu's holes were slicked and primed for the pounding before the final rope was tied, and after his pleasure-flushed body barely felt the residual burns from the incredibly tight binds. He was still out of breath and unable to move, helpless to stop the flood of seed from audibly leaking out of him. "Um ... I don't..." he stammers, unsure of how to actually talk to the alpha. "It'll heal soon. My body. And I ... I wish I could accept the compliment. But you won't say that again when it does, will you?"
