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DevilsReef avatar DevilsReef — Devil's Reef [NSFW]
Published: 2007-08-05 23:30:58 +0000 UTC; Views: 650; Favourites: 1; Downloads: 1
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Description {First Entry}

I know I will never escape.  The master of the house has allowed me a journal, a personal trinket to show his favor.  My tenure in this hell is to say, indefinite.  


My name is Hunter, by birth and allowance of my  “master.”  He has deemed that I shall keep it, for it gives him some sort of perverse pleasure knowing a hunter was snared in his intricate traps.  Indeed, I was hunting, but only for greed.  This island is vast, and has made quite a living for those on the shorelines, whether they be honest or not.  It is thinly populated, possibly due to the treacherous waters around it, or the simple treachery that it is.  It is a private island, owned by my new master, although most who thrive here are blessed with ignorance of whom or what he is.  I hate and love him.  I hate him for what he is and what he has done to me, and love him for the unnatural reasons that lead me to beg for his pleasure.  I cannot explain my love for him, not even to myself.


I have been allowed much, including a personal companion.  One of the other servants of this house, Joshua, has been a close friend and confidant since the night I met him.  He is shy and polite even to his own detriment.  I catch him looking at me from time to time but no longer feel threatened by his gaze.  He was granted as a personal companion to “teach” me how to pleasure the master, when that time must come.  I find him to be an invaluable source of information, as thankfully, I rarely am allowed to leave this room.  


I am held in high regard by the master, for the simple fact that I fit his ideal.  I am well-bodied, carry a full set of teeth, am immaculately groomed, with thick blonde hair that reaches to my lower back.  That is the description that my master spoke when he first inspected me.  With the body of a man I am his favorite horse.  


That first night still lingers in my waking nightmares, jolting me only to realize that the nightmare never ends.  I came upon these shores a pirate, looking for my greatest treasure.  I knew nothing of the spider that hosted this lush, secluded web, but after only few nights in the pubs I began to hear stories of the fortress that adorns these ragged cliffs.  Untold wealth behind those walls, they’d boast, a man could live forever on just a handful.  I also heard tales of known criminals and pirates finding either salvation or damnation, depending on who was telling the story, at the gates of that fortress.  


Men who swore to have seen thieves and murderers hauled in on wooden carts, ropes and chains around their necks like cattle, taken inside those massive gates.  They were hauled off the carts, their clothes ripped from them.  Those who resisted were soundly beaten.  Again like cattle, they were inspected and separated, some drug or carried off screaming, never to be seen again.  One of these fable weavers joined me in what was to my greatest mistake.


Despite these tales and fair warnings, a couple fellows and I decided that we would hatch a plan to bring back some of the riches that lined the fortress walls.  After a few pints we had mustered enough courage to set out, ropes and hooks in hand.  Being “well-bodied,” I was the strongest of the troupe, and had the most experience scaling cliffs and walls.  We set out early, two days and two nights, three other fellows and myself, feeling triumphant and drunk with greed as we hacked through the jungle and arrived under the cover of the moon upon those vertical cliffs.  The plan was that one would act as a lookout, another as a guide to the location of windows and such, while the third fellow joined us in climbing most of the cliff until we reached the stones of the fortress, where he would act as a second lookout and help while the three of us handed treasure down the ropes.  It was a perfect plan, and a perfect trap.


It seemed like an eternity to climb those rocks, both structured and natural, but my lust for gold spurred me on.  We rested at the top of the cliffs, boasting about what we will do with all that wealth.  Even at that height, we could not yet see the shores, but still hear the ocean.  I claimed that I would buy an island just like this one, bigger even, and place my own fortress on it, but with better security.  If I had only known.


I waved a temporary fair well to my accomplices, and began the final trek up to a carelessly open window.  What would be in there?  A room of gold?  A harem of virgins or dancing girls?  All kinds of images raced through my mind as I pulled myself up to the ledge where our hook was grappled.  I pulled myself into the room and gazed about.  No gold.  No virgins.  No dancing girls.
The room, however, was well furnished, and big as a modest house.  A bedroom, obviously, with marble floors, a giant four-post bed, one of those fancy couches that ladies and fops sit on at parties, a powder room big enough to fit twenty people fit in the bathtub!  Marble, porcelain, and gold all in that one room.  I saw the bar, fine wines and brandies, all held in a symphony of crystal and everything lined in gold.  


In my excitement I heard a great noise come from the main room.  The window from where I had arrived was shut.  A stiff breeze must have hit it.  I went to reopen it and discovered that it was locked.  Not just that a latch had fallen, but sealed and fastened.  Someone was in the room.  I had dressed lightly, in all black to hide myself, even managing to tuck all my hair up under a bandanna.  Under that bandanna I had also stolen away a small dagger, which I was prepared to use to fight whatever assassin I had come upon.


I searched the room, and found the door to it also locked, but from the outside.  However, no one could have crept in and out of that door without me knowing.  There must be a secret entrance.  I searched for it and my opponent.  Nothing.


I looked through the massive powder room, but although I did not find a hidden exit or another person, I did happen to notice that the room had golden shackles on the walls, and rings hanging presumably for chains.  Even on the edge of the bathtub were golden clasps.  I wandered into the main room and noticed the same shackles and ring above the headboard of the bed and upon the lowered ceiling that the posters of the bed ascended into.  The foot of the bed and its posters, too, had these shackles.  


And then I noticed the once unlocked window.  The curtains were drawn.  I raced to it in a panic, flying open the tied curtains, trying to free the bolted latch.  It was locked tight, needing of a key.  I felt a warm light behind me, spinning about to see a single wall candle shining with a little flame that wasn’t there before.  Again I flew through the room, searching for whomever may be there, returning to the window, and then the door, and then the other window, and finally back to the first, my heart pounding in terror.  Maybe it was my fright that made me feel like I was not alone, pounding in vain agony to open that window, jerking its latch in the last hope that it would spring loose.


My eyes kept searching the bedroom at every opportunity.  I had yet to claim defeat, but I thought as long as I’m here I might as well have a drink at the little bar to calm my nerves.  Then I could face my foe head on.  I sighed one last time at my former escape route.  I turned, and there he was.  Not even a few steps away from me.  Any other man and I would have felt his breath on my back.  Black, thick, hair on his shoulders, coral green eyes, a paler complexion than most, dressed in a richly made suit, and a sly, hungry little smile that would make the devil shiver.  The tips of his fangs could not help but to glint under those lips.  He allowed me to look at him before slowly making his approach, because he was certainly looking at me.  The way a man should only look at his bride, so I thought.  Or his first meal in a month.  I tried to erase my mind of that particular image, but I felt myself creeping into the window nonetheless, trying to think of which direction to run.  He took his time, eying me like an interesting new dish.  He approached closer, putting out his hand out to caress my cheek.  Hushing and cooing as if I were a startled mare in that corner.  I felt helpless, trembling, but I would let him get closer before I attacked.  I pulled back my blade behind me, allowing him in closer, touching my cheek, caressing my ear and my neck.  It sickened me the way he looked at me.  He came in closer, closer, his other hand traveling up the side of my right leg up to my hip.  I struck.  


That blade aimed straight for his heart, but his hand was just a little faster. That hand went from my hip to wrist, squeezing hard enough to force me to drop the dagger.  The bastard never even diverted his gaze from my body or ceased to whisper and coo.  I attempted wrestle against him but I might as well have wrestled against a moving statue.  He curled me under him with unending patience, inspecting me as he might some sort of novel, muttering his notes to himself.  I pounded, railed and screamed against him, but the only move he made to oppose me was to easily clasp my wrists together with one hand.  I was larger than he, but still helpless, which infuriated me.  He was so damn calm, so damn patient.  He was just touching me, inspecting and muttering to himself in that quiet little voice.  For every feature he muttered, he just had to touch and pull and caress and there was nothing I could do about it.  


Well-bodied...very...well-bodied...immaculately groomed...fine featured, soft green-blue eyes, very soft skin...a seaman’s skin...needs a shave...pouty lips, strong nose, no lines...


He stuck fingers in my mouth to wedge it open.  I tried to bite him out of spite but he only smiled, clasped his fingers down on my palette and continued.  Not once did he ever look me in the eye, not even while he inspected them.  What need was there?  As far as he was concerned, I was only a specimen.
     

Full set of teeth, very nice...very spirited voice, somewhat hostile, but we’ll take care of that, won’t we, Pretty?


Finally he looked me in the eye, with that clever, wicked little grin.  It sent a chill through me.  He noticed, even through my clothes.  This amused him somehow, running his other fingers up the goose bumps on my neck.  His other hand was still clasped in my mouth, I began to sense that he was being exceptionally gentle as to not bruise me.  He leaned down to sniff my neck, smiling more then nuzzling.  His cold skin brought more chills, much to his delight.  He increased this, releasing my hands in order to wrap his around me, kissing and licking at my neck as I squirmed to get away.  His fangs slid across my throat, and a frightened whimper escaped from within me.  He thought that was just darling.  I was mortified, as shown by the flush in my cheeks.  The kissing continued, getting heavier, more aggressive.  He licked my throat as it were grease off of his fingers.  Those cold lips tugged greedily at my earlobes while that cold tongue explored them.  The more I squirmed and tried to fight, the more aggressive he became.  I  tried to push him away but to no avail.  In fact, it made him hard.  He pulled his fingers out of my mouth to clutch the back of my head, grinding me with his body.  


Pulling the bandanna off of my head, he stopped, staring at the cascade of hair flowing down my back.  He sat back in dumbfounded awe, allowing me to escape. I tumbled backward out of the window seat, down the marble steps, stumbling over my own hair, but stopping like a fool at the bottom, almost to the bed.  We stared at each other with the same expression for a moment, before he started to get up.  I bolted but before I knew it he was on me again, kissing my mouth hard, shoving his tongue to the base of my throat.  I hit and kicked at him to no avail.  He swirled his tongue around in my mouth, pulling back to suck on my lips.  His hands were all over me, clutching my hair as he suckled my Adam’s apple, groping my backside, grinding his manhood against mine.


Suddenly he reared back, clasping my hips with his thighs to prevent another escape.  I saw his fangs in all of their awful glory as he roared, wrenching a scream from my lips.  He wrapped his tongue around those fangs and looked upon with a face of famished evil.  His clothes had been discarded, save a shirt and trousers.  His manhood was apparent in those trousers, and I was ashamed to see that mine was as well.  I wailed like a woman trying to get away, for I was certain that he intended to eat me alive.  


The monster ripped open my shirt and became calm again, sliding one hand lovingly over my stomach and chest before dipping down to do the same with his lips.  Any opposition to this resulted in gleeful pleasure for him, pulling the rest of my shirt away while flicking my nipples with his tongue.  He held my arms down as he surveyed my body.  I couldn’t help but feel ashamed.  He only smiled and nuzzled my biceps, lightly kissing every muscle.  Loosening his grip he kissed my face, my lips, my neck that had become so appealing to him, and then started working his way down.  He rubbed his face and his hair all over my chest, looking up at me as if for my approval.  Suckling my nipples again, he moved farther down, holding my sides to show that he was still in control.  He kissed every muscle on my stomach, playfully nibbling at my navel, gazing up at me as he slid his tongue down, down...  I jerked.  He let out an amused little laugh, resting his head on my warm groin.


What do you imagine I shall do now, Pretty?


Let me go?


   He chuckled and licked at my loins through my pants.  It revolted me.  


What is your name, Pretty?


Why should you know?


More licking and nuzzling.  He stared at me with those impish eyes.


Because you’re mine.  Tell me your name.


Against my better judgement, I told him.  His lips curled up with menacing joy.  His eyes danced.  The look made me humiliated at my own name.   


I think that I shall still call you Pretty.  He traced his finger over my manhood.  It fits you.


And if I don’t want to be called that?  If I don’t want to be your little plaything?  I know I have plenty of things to call you, none of them “Pretty”.


This brought on a resounding laugh from the vile creature.  He began to pop off the buttons of my trousers.  I was a toy to him.


Look, if you’re going to kill me, just kill me.  I have no interest in this little game of yours.


Oh, but I have no intention of killing you, Pretty... Quite the opposite.  


He finished popping the buttons and proceeded  to slide down my pants despite all attempts to stop him.  He gazed up at me with arrogant eyes.  


You are mine.  More than that you will be only mine.  Death will not save you, nor will anything else.  What’s more is that you will like it.  You will sit at my feet like a favorite dog.  Your every breath will be to please me.  You will call me your master and when I want to fuck you your response will be spread your legs and moan.  That is because you are mine.


And what makes you so sure I’ll do all this for you?  You disgust me.


This brought a sneer to his lips.


Because of this.


He sank his teeth into my groin, through muscle and flesh and cloth.  I screamed from the pain but a great orgasm was shooting through my veins.  I loved and hated it like I love and hate him.  I screamed, but to this day I know not if it was from agony or pleasure.  For any reason he was right.  From that moment on I was his.  


He did not drain me completely, only enough to make me weak.  This allowed him to touch me without much resistance.  He had to make me weak and vulnerable before he could finish teasing me.  He has said that he will not penetrate me until the time is right.  He likes a virgin in his stable.  


This of course does not stop him from forcing me to fondle him, letting him kiss and touch my body, do sorts of things such as touching me so I squirm or testing the tautness of my hole.


But I’m not bitter.
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