Turning the Hunter
Prudence Sinclaire
Copyright 2012 by Prudence Sinclaire
Published at Smashwords
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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The material in this book is intended for ages 18+ it may contain adult subject matter including explicit sexual content, profanity, drug use and violence. All characters portrayed in this fictional work are over the age of 18.
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The hunter hung limp from the chains that held him upright as the werewolf sauntered over to him from the other side of the small log cabin. The previous night, the werewolf had used the hunter over and over again for his pleasure until the hunter had learned to submit to the were's every command, a pleasurable lesson the hunter had relished. The next step would test the hunter's commitment to obedience when given the freedom of choice. The werewolf came to a stop inches within the hunter's nude body.
"Are you ready to be good?" the werewolf asked.
"Yes," the hunter whispered.
"You will obey what I tell you?" The hunter nodded in response. "And give no commands of your own?"
The hunter nodded again.
The werewolf walked around the hunter, and the hunter could feel the were's member press into his backside as the lycanthrope reached up to the padlock that held the hunter bound in place. The werewolf paused and waited. He rubbed himself against the hunter.
The hunter moaned, whether in frustration or arousal he knew not, but he refrained from speaking. He knew the lycanthrope teased him, but he also knew from experience that the werewolf would take even begging as a challenge and exert his dominance over the hunter.
"What would you have me do?" the werewolf said.
The hunter had fallen for that trick earlier in the night by answering truthfully with the delicious fantasies that played in his mind. The werewolf had punished him with the belt for that mistake, but the punishment had been worth it when the werewolf later rewarded his good behavior by fulfilling his desires.
"As you wish," the hunter whispered.
The werewolf grunted. "Good boy."
With the release of the lock, the chain slid from the beam, and the hunter lowered his arms. He held his hands out while the lycanthrope unbound the chain that held them together. Angry red welts appeared where the sharp metal had rubbed his skin raw. The werewolf lifted the hunter's hands to his mouth and blew cool air over the burns.
The hunter's heartbeat quickened at the gentle touch. Over his past few days with the lycanthrope, the hunter had learned to associate pain and pleasure together. While the muscles in the hunter's arms ached with tension and his legs shook under feeling his full weight again, the feelings only enhanced the pleasure of the cool air on his wrists and the light touch of the werewolf holding the hunter's hands in his own.
"Come." The werewolf led the hunter to the small cot in the room and laid him on the bed. "Where are your ointments?"
The hunter gestured to a small wooden chest in the corner and relaxed on top of straw pallet. He lay on his stomach, his backside too sore to bear any weight. He tucked his arms under his chest and allowed the tensed muscles a moment to rest. The werewolf found the ointment with ease and returned to the bed. He sat on the edge.
"I should leave your wounds alone and let you suffer to remind you of your lesson," the lycanthrope said.
He did not open the jar of ointment. He turned it around and around in his hands as if gathering his thoughts. The hunter didn't respond. He stretched his arms above his head and waited for the werewolf to finish speaking.
"You say you will be good, and against my better judgment, I believe you so I'll nurse your wounds. I seem to have a soft spot where you're concerned, but know this, hunter: if you take advantage of my good humor by disobeying me, again, I'll have to punish you, again. The second time around I won't be as nice."
"I understand," the hunter whispered. His heart beat a little quicker now. He only cared about two things that the lycanthrope had just said--first and most importantly, that the werewolf admitted feelings for him for the first time and second, that the werewolf had admitted to holding back in his previous lesson. The hunter wondered how it would feel if the werewolf had lost total control in his lust, and despite the pain in his backside, the hunter felt the blood flow increase in his member as it started to harden.
The werewolf repositioned himself so that he straddled the hunter's back legs. He gently laid the clay jar next to the hunter and started with the hunter's shoulders. As the lycanthrope reached up to the hunter's shoulders, his rod pressed against the hunter's backside.
Rough hands kneaded the knots and tension from the hunter's muscles. The hunter felt the soreness begin to melt underneath the werewolf's light touch. The werewolf increased the pressure of his massage. While he increased the pressure, he grunted and ground his hands down into the hunter's tense back. As a result, the werewolf's member began to rub up and down the hunter's backside.