The Alpha's Woman

The first thing that hit her was the smell, and she knew immediately that things were not going to be good. It was that back of the throat, acrid, moldy aroma that arose from severe neglect, mixed with the unmistakable aroma of death.

Still, the door to her sealed chamber had popped open automatically for some reason, and she could no longer indulge in the lovely oblivion of the stasis into which she'd been put so long ago.

Before she pushed it open even further, she indulged herself in a full body stretch that was so pleasurable as to be nearly orgasmic. Nothing like, who knew how many, years of being in the same position to kink your muscles all to hell.

That, and finding something to wear, would be her first priority – determining exactly when she was. She couldn't imagine that the entire facility had been moved, so she was pretty sure where she was, but all of the supposedly built-in, fail-safe features that were supposed to have given her all of the pertinent information she would need to survive in another time had, of course, failed.

Your tax dollars at work.

Well, not hers, exactly, but everyone else's.

When she pushed the door open all the way, it protested arthritically, adding a second layer to what were rapidly becoming grave concerns about what this might mean for her possible survival.

And the condition of the room she stepped out into did nothing to assuage her worries – she had to look hard to find a place to put each foot that wasn't covered in shattered something – glass, maybe – mixed, as it was, with dirt and grime that was an inch or two thick on the floor.

But that was the least of it.

Standing, naked, outside the chamber, in her carefully choreographed three-sixty, she took in the wreckage of what had once been a state of the art stasis facility. The equipment obviously scavenged over time; what were supposed to have been sealed windows broken or missing entirely, and, worst of all, the two other chambers – and their contents – horribly defiled, one over on its back on the floor, the other in place as it should be, but with the door lying across the room.

Neither occupant was in any kind of shape to be joining her in this adventure, their bodies in the process of decomposition, but not enough so to spare her the sight of their ravaging.

She drew a long breath.

She was alone, more alone than she had ever been in her life. More alone even than she had been when she'd lost the man who had inspired this jaunt of hers, and she knew there was no guarantee that she'd make it even just one more day. There was no way for her to know whether the entities – please let them be people of some sort – who had destroyed this facility might be back, although there was little evidence that anyone had been here in a while, so she took some comfort in that thought.

No foot – or paw – prints beyond her own had disturbed the dust in quite some time, at least not in what had been this reasonably well-hidden chamber.

With a twinge of conscience about not having the intestinal fortitude to bury her...co-workers, in favor of preserving her own hide, although she tried to assuage her feelings of guilt by remembering the fact that they had not been her friends. They were merely acquaintances who were going to attempt the same journey into the future as she, she ventured out into the hallway just outside the door.

Still, they deserved to be buried, and she made a mental note to try to get back here – once she'd gotten the lay of the land – to do just that, eventually.

Further inspection of the rest of the facility revealed a tattered old lab coat in a locker she'd had to use a fire extinguisher to break open, but not much else. Whatever useful materials this place might once have held, vandals probably long since removed. It might act as a shelter to her in the very short term, but she doubted that it would provide much beyond that.

She would probably have to venture out in order to find food and water, if only to bring it back here, if this was even the best place to base herself.

And what she'd seen when she left the seclusion of what had been the well guarded, windowless room that housed the stasis chambers had chilled her to the bone, causing her to stand stark still and stare, blindly out the first window she encountered, wondering if there would be any safe place for her in this world at all.

Everett Labs was secluded in the rolling hills of Tennessee. Growing up in a little town nestled into the Green Mountains of Vermont, she'd liked the idea of slumbering away in her adopted home state, which she'd always considered to be Vermont with better weather.

Unrelenting verdance should have been what greeted her eyes – even the overgrown kind would not have been unexpected, considering the condition of the lab.

She was completely unprepared to encounter nothing of the sort.

Nothing of any sort, really.

If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn she was in a desert, despite the presence of the same hills with which she was familiar. The vista before her eyes reminded her much less of Vermont than of New Mexico or Arizona, both states in which she'd spent more than a few happy years with him.

That depressingly familiar, unbearably painful twinge in her chest was still there, even after Lord knew how long. She'd hoped that the distance time would create might have lessened her sense of loss, but she couldn't be that lucky, it appeared.

She'd just brought it with her.

He was gone then, and he was still gone now. Why she'd thought this might help her deal with the loss of the love of her life – of the only man she'd ever loved, since she'd laid on him in high school at the ripe old age of fifteen – and with whom she'd had five years of a truly blissful marriage from the moment they could legally be hitched.

Now, she stared despondently out the window, at what had been a largely virgin paradise of old growth forest. At what had, somehow, become a very desert like – deserted – landscape, she felt the same sense of desolation that she had sought to avoid, wrapping itself around her with frightening familiarity; fitting her again with the emotional equivalent of a hair shirt.

* * *

A little more than a week later, she had more thoroughly scouted the area around the facility and was now dwelling in a cave that wasn't too far from the lab, although the facility's use was now very limited for her. Since she'd scavenged pretty much everything she could from it – everything she thought might come in handy, everything she thought might be of value, pickin's were mighty slim.

In the surprising – and suspicious – absence of any form of transportation – there weren't even any abandoned cars as far as she could see – a few hand trucks and carts had come in handy in getting her booty to her cozy – if somewhat damp – new home. Creature comforts were reasonably readily available. She'd made a makeshift bed from the plump cushions of the couch someone'd had in their office, and further – more careful – exploration had yielded a small cache of clothing of various styles and sizes.

Food and water, however, were in scarce supply.

Very scarce supply.

The vending machines had long since been raided, as had the break room as well as peoples' desks. Her sharp eye caught the bright red of a wrapper that shone against the dingy white ceiling, leading her to do what the previous owner of said energy bars had obviously done, which was to stand on the desk in order to move the tile away. This revealed a stash of about ten bars. Some of which had obvious signs of having been nibbled on by tiny rodent teeth.

As distasteful as she might have found the idea of eating that which a mouse or rat had decided not to for some reason, she was in no position to be a chooser.

She'd also stumbled on one of those big water cooler bottles – its seal still intact. Despite what must've been its age, she trusted its contents more so than any faucet or ground water she might have encountered.

Considering how heavy it was, and the fact that whenever her boss asked her to change one when she'd worked in an office that had one of those water coolers, she only ever managed to spill most of it on the floor around the cooler. That was one of the times she blessed the various carts she'd found, or she never would have been able to get it – or much of what she'd collected – back to the cave.

She'd quickly rejected the idea of staying put in the lab. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the landscape, which meant it could be a magnet to scavengers of all sorts. There was no telling when someone might come knocking at the front door.

Although she had an inkling they weren't likely to display such manners.

Along with provisions to address her immediate needs, she scoured the place for anything she could apply to the next concern on her mental list – security.

But if there ever had been guns within these walls, they were long gone. The closest thing she found to a weapon was a lowly butter knife, although she brought with her the tools necessary to begin sharpening what pieces of metal she could find into something that might actually manage to cause someone some harm – she hoped.

She'd also scarfed every bit of reading material – which was about as hard to find as food and water – she could find in order to try to bring herself up to date, but print journalism had gone out of style long before her time, much less whenever now was. So she wasn't able to lay hands to much beyond a copy of the Bible, someone's recipe collection, an old stash of porn magazines that dated back to the twentieth century, and a copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People that was copy written in her great-great-grandmother's era.

And even now, nearly ten days later, she'd yet to see another human being – or any evidence that there was anyone left on Earth besides her. Wondering what had happened was a full time occupation, when she wasn't worrying about her own survival – or what was likely to be the distinct lack thereof if she didn't find more food and water shortly.

She'd never envisioned waking up as she had – totally alone – but apparently, things had gone terribly, terribly wrong with the world while she'd been playing Sleeping Beauty.

She didn't think her environment had the look of a nuclear winter – no toxic clouds obscured the sun – and not that she was an expert on such things by any means. There hadn't been any rain – and she kind of thought there might not have been for quite some time, considering the landscape. If there had been a shower or two, they might have been a source of water, but then again, not. If what had happened to deforest the area was chemical in origin, those chemicals would have been in the rain, too, and she was in no hurry to expose herself to any more of them than she probably already had done.

Boredom was a definite problem. None of the electronic equipment that surrounded her in the building seemed to work, although she supposed that whatever advances had been made after she'd been put into stasis, and before whatever catastrophe befell the planet, could have resulted in her standing next to something that might have allowed her to communicate, but that she wouldn't have recognized as such.

She did her best to keep herself occupied and on a schedule, spending time foraging through the facility, even when there wasn't anything left that she wanted. She made scouting forays into the surrounding area and sat in the entrance to the cave, scanning, with a pair of reasonably good binoculars, some enterprising amateur ornithologist had left behind in his desk, for signs of life.

Any kind of life.

She would have been happy to see a field mouse scampering across the sand – a cat or dog would have been wonderful for companionship. No matter how hungry she got, she didn't think she'd be able to consider either one of them as a food source, and something goat sized or bigger might have become dinner, if she could have managed to catch it.

Nothing but nothing out there moved but the occasional clump of scrub brush in the wind.

* * *

Her supplies dwindled rapidly, despite her strict rationing; forcing her to abandon attempts to do much that was physical in favor of saving the calories. This reduced her to being a sentry at the mouth of the cave, which she'd done her best to conceal with brush, for hours on end.

She was just beginning to enjoy her one meager meal a day – while still scanning the horizon for signs of life – when she saw him.

One second, nothing, and then, on the return sweep, there he was, not bothering to conceal himself in the least, sitting, bold as brass, on a big horse.

And staring right back, directly into her eyes, without the benefit of binoculars.

His appearance so startled her – and what she could see was his bold assessment of her – that she dropped her binoculars and scrambled a few feet away, into the cave.

Not because she was scared of him, necessarily, although she knew she ought not to assume that he would be friendly.

No, it wasn't fear that had driven her back into the false safety of her cave.

It was the way her body had reacted to that stare. The man was a good half mile away, at least, and yet her body trembled, her breathing was shallow and sharp, as if she'd just been jogging, nipples hardening against her will beneath the baggy shirt she was wearing as she felt a longing rise within her that was unlike anything else she'd ever experienced.

Her sex life with her love had been amazing, and she had wanted him all day, every day, since the moment she'd met him.

But this was not that.

This was quite...uncivilized.

Primitive in the extreme.

Animalistic.

And much less controllable – completely overwhelming and undeniable.

She had to ball her hands into fists to keep them from plunging beneath her shirt and cupping her own breasts, pinching her nipples the way she knew she wanted him to. Then slipping further down to delve into what she knew would be the wet heat of her desire, horrified at the same time to realize that she could already feel her own juices dripping down the insides of her thighs.

She shook her head so rapidly that it made her stumble dizzily, hoping to clear it enough to make preparations in case he decided to storm the cave. She should have been scrambling around making things as secure as she could – however pitiful though her attempt might be.

Instead, she found herself rooted to the spot, head down, gasping for breath, the struggle to tamp down the urge to writhe where she stood taking every bit of her concentration.

When she'd finally beaten it back some, she lifted her head and looked up again at where he'd been.

Only he was no longer there.

She briefly wondered if lack of food and water had caused her to hallucinate, and he was the result, but then she dismissed the thought, knowing that decision, too, could have been because she was losing her mind.

As she searched for him frantically, while remaining – hopefully – as secluded from his eyes as she could, full blown panic set in at the idea that he was, indeed, a reality. That thought succeeded in doing what she'd been wholly unable to—overwhelming—if just barely, those primitive sexual urges goosing her into nervous action.

She'd already hidden anything she thought was of value well inside the cave, and what she ended up doing was much less preparing for an attack by him than doing things that would have been more in keeping with the idea that she was cleaning her apartment in anticipation of having a date see it. She straightened her almost bed, folded her clothes and put them neatly in the small bookcase she'd procured, wishing randomly that she had a hairbrush.

Then she stopped short when she realized where her thoughts were going. This was not a date. It was much more likely to be a very short, ignominious fight to her death, if he was as big up close as he already looked from a considerable distance.

But her supplies were so meager that there was truly little she could do to prepare herself for him, besides make mental peace with the fact that this was probably going to be how and where she died – at this man's hands.

She was already wearing the one weapon she owned, such as it was. Her attempts at making more had been pitiful at best, and she had soon abandoned that idea.

So, she stood in the entrance to the cave and waited for the inevitable. He was on horseback, so she should be able to hear him approaching, she thought.

But he proved her wrong about that, seconds later, when he swooped down from above and landed dead in front of her, a long, wicked blade in one hand as he assumed a defensive posture.

For the second time in less than ten minutes, she found herself reeling backwards, away from him, only this time she managed to overbalance herself – partly by looking up – and up – and up some more at him – and was in danger of ending up flat on her backside.

Quick as a snake, his eyes never leaving hers, he caught her wrist in his free hand and pulled her upright. She would have sworn he was smiling down at her as if she was a brainless dolt, although, staring into those obsidian eyes of his, she realized that she could also have no problems at all believing that he had never smiled – not once – in his life.

Under normal circumstances, she might have smiled up at him and thanked him for keeping her from falling, but things were far from normal. Instead, she began to struggle to reclaim her hand immediately, her fierce and frantic actions the result of those unwanted feelings she'd only just begun to be able to get under control roaring back to life within her as a direct result of his proximity, to say nothing of his touch.

He remained rock still as she tugged and pulled and tried to twist her arm from a grip that wasn't painful in the least, but also seemed to be completely unbreakable, even against all of the self-defense tricks her husband had taught her. No matter what she did, he simply stood there like a mountain, staring down at her, never having moved so much as a muscle, despite her efforts.

And not only was she having to fight him, but also, she was still deep in the midst of that struggle with her baser self.

She could already tell she wasn't likely to win either altercation.

Her feeble attempts at breaking his hold quickly dwindled down to what was nothing more than her trembling and occasionally jerking violently as she fought to maintain command of her own body and continue to fight against his hold.

She'd never felt anything like this, a neediness – a desire – so insidious that it was agony to deny it in any way, that had already worked its way into her brain, shutting down her centers of reason, subduing her intelligence in favor of convincing her to offer herself to the man who stood – unmoving and immovable – in front of her. Until the only thing she could think about was the fact she wanted to strip off her clothes and present herself to him as if she was a bitch in heat, bottom high, head down, legs spread so that she was completely open to him, body weeping copiously for want of him.

She knew she was moments away from begging him to mount her.

Nothing else – not finding out what kind of catastrophe had befallen the area, not discovering who he was, not even maintaining the illusion of her own safety and security – mattered to her in the least. She rapidly reduced herself to her lowest common denominator, to her carnal, animal essence.

As he watched her, his face darkened, then – lightening quick – he gave a small tug on her wrist, which sent her crashing into him. The impact jarred her small body as he strode forward at the same time, plowing her back until she could go no further. Trapped, as she was, between the rock wall of the cave and the rock wall that was him towering over her, reaching out to tear her shirt to shreds with one sharp jerk to lift her into the air by her armpits and hold her there.

Her bare, seeping crotch dangled inches from his face.

She could feel the warmth of his breath on the parts of her that were overflowing with their welcome to him. She knew she should have been ashamed and embarrassed about the pool of her own moisture that had already begun collecting at her feet, but she couldn't think enough to do so.

Suddenly, she felt herself being hitched even higher, watching in disbelief as he draped her thighs over his shoulders, opening her to him whether she wanted to be or not. Pausing for a long second, closing his eyes and deeply – ritualistically – he inhaled a huge lungful of nothing but her scent on a deep growl that rumbled almost tangibly between them before raising his head. And only then, opening his eyes, those full, sensual lips quirking just slightly upwards – top lip moving just enough to give her a glimpse of frighteningly impressive canines – in a smile that had nothing whatever to do with amusement, and everything to do with raw, primitive male pride and possessiveness, that she heartily wished she hadn't seen.

She should have been protesting. She should have been screaming, although she knew there was no one around to hear her, no one to come to her aid in any way. Still, she should have been doing anything necessary to extract herself from his hold.

In the back of her mind—in the miniscule part of it that still retained the ability to reason—she knew all of that. But she had already found that she could act on none of it. She had completely lost the ability to deny herself what this man was so obviously offering. She didn't know why, and at this moment, she didn't really care.

Especially since he was nuzzling his nose with unerring accuracy between her dripping folds as she felt him, literally, lower her onto – and into – his waiting mouth.

It certainly wasn't the desire to get away from him that had her grinding and writhing against him. It wasn't even the roughness of the rock behind her that she could feel scratching her skin. It wasn't even the prickly hairs of his beard against her pristine lips. In fact, if anything, that only served to heighten her desire. The contrast of the uncontrollable bliss he was inflicting on her, occasionally backed down from combustibility by the rough hairs being, deliberately, she suspected, dragged along that over-sensitized, over stimulated flesh, making it almost itchy, then both soothing and driving her relentlessly back to a fever pitch while doing so. Carefully never sending her over the edge, which only seemed to make her leak even more copiously – knowing in the back of her mind that she should be mortified at her body's reaction to him, although wishing desperately that she could be, did not make it so.

She was surprised he wasn't drowning, knowing she was drenching him in her fluids, but he seemed to revel in them, literally burying his face in her cunt, wetting the entirety of it with her, and worrying even the hair on his head over her exposed bits.

Nothing she had ever experienced in her life before stasis had prepared her for how this man was making her feel. She would have sworn that she had experienced the absolute heights of her own pleasure, but that was a pale imitation in comparison to this. She felt as if her entire body had the sensitivity of the area his mouth and tongue were devouring, and it was at once exhilarating and devastating – to be so exposed, so raw, so totally out of control.

And so completely controlled by someone else, someone she couldn't be sure wouldn't just kill her when he had taken what he wanted from her, someone who was more than big enough to snap her neck on a whim.

Or even accidentally.

Before she could try to marshal what little was left of her thought processes to worry about this, he moved, shifting them away from the wall – never breaking the seal of his mouth over her, never disturbing the rhythm of his talented tongue as it alternately coaxed and demanded a response from her – which it always received.

She didn't even realize that he had moved them until she felt the couch cushions of her makeshift bed at her back. Until she realized – belatedly – that he was crouched over her like a lion over his prey, looking down at her and catching her eye as his hand found where his tongue had so recently been, sluicing down that juicy cleft until he found what he was looking for and began to press a big finger inside her.

It was too much. Too much stimulation and not nearly enough release. She couldn't take any more, but was powerless to convey that to him. It was much too advanced a concept for what had become her tiny pea brain.

Her mind latched onto one word as her body tried to convince him to give her what she needed in other ways – writhing, arching her hips towards him – blatantly offering herself to him.

"Please!" she whispered fervently, demandingly. But her only reward for her efforts was another one of those evil almost-smiles that made her shiver fearfully, although she was obviously not nearly afraid enough to have it dampen her rampant desires in any way. In fact, if anything, it increased them even further, making her wish she could stop herself but the word was out of her mouth before she could even begin to recall the impulse. "Please?"

That big finger began to move, and at first, she thought that was going to help her, to soothe her, but seconds later she realized that it, too, was only making things worse.

Much, much worse.

She was so far gone, so deep within her own suffering needs, that, at first, she hadn't noticed that he'd removed the cloth wrapped around his waist and hips, covering his maleness.

But when he grabbed her hand and brought it to him, her head snapped up as her fingers sought – and failed – to wrap themselves around his tumescence.

It seemed that everything about him was formidably large. In truth, she wasn't even sure she could take him. She had only had the one lover, and she'd never even owned a dildo that was this big.

But it wasn't as if he was going to give her a choice, because, seconds later, it wasn't his finger she felt filling her.

At least, he wasn't simply ramming himself into her. He was surprisingly slow and gentle, even though she would have sworn that he was at least as gone as she was, watching her avidly, adjusting her legs and the position of his hips as he advanced himself into her, reaching down between them to pull open first one side of both her inner and outer lips a bit. Then, as he advanced incrementally forward, moving to the other, ignoring her wordless protests and breathless moans as he laid claim to more and more of her while chanting fervently, "So tight – so tight – so tight!" under his breath.

Her mind certainly couldn't deal with what was happening to her, but her body welcomed it – even though she felt as if – with every tiny advance – she was losing more and more of herself to him, to the painful – but undeniably – unbelievably – pleasurable sensations he was conjuring so effortlessly within her.

It felt so good to be truly, unutterably full of him. By the time she could feel him drive himself fully into her, she knew that he was stretching every single millimeter of her femininity to capacity – and beyond – to accommodate him. And it was the first time since she'd first seen him that she couldn't feel herself leaking any longer, because there was literally no room for her to do so – the fit was just that tight.

The sensation of him taking her so completely and utterly was unbearable. She could feel herself right on the brink – right at that edge, at that point where it should have been inevitable that she would begin to contract uncontrollably – in what would inevitably be another potent mix of pain and pleasure – around him.

But – for whatever reason – she couldn't. He left her with an unattended, exposed aching need.

Because she was well beyond coherent thought, she didn't become alarmed when he reached down to gather her wrists in his hand, stretching her arms so far above her head that she had to arch even further into him – to offer herself up to him helplessly – so that her muscles wouldn't hurt.

And at that exact moment, he snapped his hips forward, and – unbelievably – there seemed to be even more of him that was much wider than the rest, that seemed to lock into her and grow even further as the imposing head of his cock nestled tightly against her cervix...

Dan had – on rare, vigorous occasions – nudged her cervix, which she had not found uncomfortable.

And neither was this.

This...and the rocking – pumping – the still stretching tightness he was subjecting her to that seemed to have drawn her clit down to the point that every breath he took rubbed her there, too...

It was wickedly evil.

It had to be to feel this good.

The slight stab of pain she felt deep within her when he pulled just slightly out – as if his cock was barbed and he was setting himself into her g-spot – she quickly forgot as, somehow, that pain mutated into unbearable, searing desire. And the waiting ended at that exact moment, as he laid full claim to her at last, and the interminable waiting was over.

At the exact moment he began to spew his cum directly into her womb, his body naturally held hers helpless to receive his seed. Leaning further over her, filling her eyes, her mind, and her body with his overwhelming presence, pressing her legs back just the slightest bit further, increasing the helplessness of her position he very deliberately unleashed the apocalyptic pleasure that had been building within her.

In that moment of confluence – where every single bit of her femininity was engulfed in a bliss so strong it could not be imagined – could not be withstood – could not be survived – she thought she might die of it, and somehow that would have been all right with her.

Her body acted entirely on its own, under his stern command, surging upwards in perfect rhythm with the spurting of his cream within her, her contractions milking him, adding mightily to both of their pleasures.

And that bliss seemed to be never ending. Those wondrous sensations had always begun to die off rather quickly – not that she wasn't capable of more, she was, but that was another hill to climb – however small.

But this showed absolutely no signs of stopping. As he rocked himself gently against her, tugging both at the barb he had sunken into her tender flesh as well as the swollen knot within her, the euphoria she felt was constantly renewed and continued. Maintaining its peak, even deepening as her body followed his dictates automatically, needing no help from her to do as he wanted, while she found herself helplessly caught up in that maelstrom of paradise from which she felt she could never recover.

She had no idea how long he labored over her, keeping her orgasm alive for much longer than she would ever have thought possible, until, with a last cry, she finally felt him expend the last of himself into her, and both the barb and the bulge at the base of his penis began to subside.

And she realized immediately that it was not just her now leaking around him and out of her. In fact, she didn't think she was contributing anything at the moment – every bit of it was him, leaving her in great globs as her body continued to contract gently around him.

As she felt him shrink within her, she thought he would leave her and was surprised to realize that she didn't much like that idea. She wanted him near her – preferably, inside of her – and that the thought of being separated from him was troubling – which made it just that much more troubling, since she had always prided herself on being an independent woman.

While they were still somewhat joined, he looked up at her, reaching up to catch her chin.

"Tell me that you are mine," he demanded.

She raised her eyebrow. Not what she would have hoped for his first words to her. But then – as reason slowly returned to her – she hadn't given him much cause to think she might balk at that idea.

Nevertheless, she wasn't about to do so – fantastic sex or not.

"How could I possibly say that to someone I've never met?"

That comment earned her what she came to think of as the first real smile she'd seen from him – and, even though it seemed genuine and showed no signs of the evilness of his first few attempts, he still looked foreboding at best.

"What is your name, girl?"

Did people still shake hands? She wondered. Regardless, did they shake hands while lying beneath someone who was slowly shrinking within them?

Out of habit, she raised her hand, lowering it when he didn't seem as if he was going to offer his own.

"Emmy – Emily Harding. And you?" she asked expectantly.

Suddenly, she was alone, and feeling more bereft because of it than she wanted to admit – and also – amazingly – alarmingly – she could feel the stirring of desire again, on its way to becoming as deep and all encompassing as if what had just transpired between them as he stood in one surprisingly graceful, fluid motion for one so large.

Emmy did her best to try not to watch him as he re-wrapped that little loincloth type covering over himself quickly and efficiently, watching the muscles ripple beneath his deeply tanned skin, noticing how his shoulder length black hair wanted to curl in some places. She found herself both appalled and even more turned on at the sheer number and variety of scars he bore.

Then he reached a big paw down to take her hand and pull her up, clamping her tightly to his side.

"Come."

He began to walk, and she had no choice but to go with him. He was practically carrying her.

"Wait – what about my clothes? And I don't want to go!"

Her attempts to forestall him from carting her away from her cozy little nest were not a little laughable and quite worrisome, in fact. Nothing she did seemed to have any effect on him whatsoever. He wanted them to go, so they were going.

Just outside the cave, he emitted a high-pitched whistle that echoed through the brown hills, and Emily could hear his horse galloping towards them, rushing to obey his summons. She decided to make a last stand, trying to twist out of his hold, to contort herself in any manner that would loosen his grip on her, but, in the end, the only thing she managed to accomplish was to tire herself out.

Because she was so exhausted from lack of food and water, she lied blatantly to herself.

When the beautiful stallion arrived, he stood docilely in front of his master, and Emmy had to crane her neck to see his withers. A massive horse for a massive man.

Said massive man bent and offered his laced, cupped hands to her. Emmy knew exactly what he wanted her to do – to step into them so that he could lift her up onto the horse.

But, realizing she was now free and immediately dismissing the idea of trying to run, which risked pissing him off, she instead crossed her arms over her chest and took three large – for her – deliberate steps away from him. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm dressed, you tell me your name and where you would like me to go with you. Then I'll decide whether or not I wish to go."

One expressive eyebrow rose seconds before she realized that those steps hadn't gotten her anywhere near far enough away from him, and before she could so much as lean away from him, she found herself standing in his arms, facing the horse, her side against his stomach. But he didn't lift her onto the beast immediately, as she expected. Instead, he held her still as he delivered five powerful swats to her bare bottom that had her seriously reconsidering putting up any kind of resistance whatsoever, tears fresh in her eyes before he stopped, even after so few spanks.

After that, he didn't give her a choice. He put her on the horse, then swung up himself, arms wrapping around her from behind, effectively trapping her there with him.

Although she tried to pay attention to the position of the sun, she had no idea how long they spent on the horse, or really, in which direction they travelled.

Not necessarily because she didn't know how to calculate either of those things, but more because – despite what he'd done to her in the cave and how thoroughly sated she'd been by the experience – more so than she wanted to admit, really – she was rapidly finding herself returning to the state she'd been in before he had taken her.

She was sore, yes, and straddling the horse didn't help much, but then, it also served to keep those very intimate parts of her stimulated against the horse's surprisingly silky coat. To add insult to injury, her now very sore behind was fit tight up against that which his loincloth strained to contain as it reared up and curved almost into her from behind, widely separating her bottom cheeks around it, the rhythm of the horse making him move against her as if he was thrusting into her.

And he wasn't any help, either. Emmy bravely tried to smack his roaming hands away from her, but she spent most of the trip with him cupping her breasts in his callused palms or pinching and then holding onto her nipples as he kicked the horse into a trot, which caused her breasts to bounce and pull her nipples – repeatedly – out of his tight grip.

It hurt, yes, but that potent combination did nothing but fan the unquenchable fire between her legs – even his hearty chuckle at her squirming couldn't manage to dull the ache.

When they finally stopped, it was outside a large gate. He slid off the horse then lifted her down to stand close in front of him, his back to the gate, hunching himself around her as if to conceal her.

He whistled three long blasts, and she heard someone open it.

Her captor said something she didn't recognize, and then the gate closed, only to open again quickly.

This time, she got what he barked, although she didn't understand it.

"Nike!"

Suddenly, a very large garment of some kind, in a drab gray, enveloped her. It had long sleeves, fell to pool at her bare feet and had a hood that he brought up and tucked her hair into before pulling it forward so that it draped over her entire face. "Keep your head down," he growled to her before he began walking them towards the gate, but as they were standing in front of it, before they walked through, he yelled fiercely, again, his deep voice reverberating throughout the primitive camp, "Nike!"

As they entered the enclave, she saw that men, who, at the sound of his command, stopped whatever it was they were doing and stared down at their feet, populated it almost entirely. The majority of them weren't motionless, but some of them were.

She could feel the tension in the air and was more terrified at that moment than she had been since she'd awoken.

She kept her head down without having him tell her again, even when she heard the unmistakable sounds of feet running towards her, and she had the feeling she was in imminent danger.

He only left her side for seconds. But that was all it took for him to confront whoever it was, deftly step behind him, put a hand on either side of the poor unfortunate's head and snap it, releasing the dead man immediately to let him fall to the ground with no more care than if he'd swatted a mosquito before joining her again.

Emmy was stunned.

It wasn't like it was in VR, or even old style movies or television.

This was real.

Neither the sight of an unnaturally bent neck nor the sounds of cracking bones and ripping flesh – the sounds of a man's death at the bare hands of her captor – were going to go away any time soon.

If ever.

Especially, since – even though they'd seen what had happened to the first man – two more men came at them.

She wasn't sure exactly what it was they were after – she supposed it was her, but why? She was nothing special. She'd never been particularly beautiful. She was hardly someone who inspired men to commit suicide to get to her.

And yet, they came anyway and he dropped them just as expediently as the first one.

She felt a little better when they entered a big, industrial looking building, and she was hustled down long trails of hallways until, finally, he stopped and opened a door, pushing her into the room with a careful – guiding, rather than pushing – hand on her back. And despite that, she immediately – frantically – began to look for another door off the room.

"Bathroom?" she got out, but not in time, neither seeing nor finding any sort of suitable target, she emptied what little was on her stomach onto the floor, but mostly ended up dry heaving.

He surprised her by not jumping away from the mess she was creating – or her – but rather gathering her hair into one hand at her neck, holding it out of the way, cradling her as best he could with his body, and obviously wanting to provide what little comfort he could while she was sick.

When she was finally through, spent and exhausted as she stood back up from her hunched position, he immediately wiped her mouth with a warm, damp towel.

"Sorry," she breathed weakly.

"It is I who is sorry that you had to see that. Such sights are not for one as tender as you, but I will never let any man have you, or even survive the attempt to do so."

Have her? Emmy thought, wanting to question him further about his statement, but she was too tired to do it.

Remaining close to her physically, as if he was worried she would be sick again, he continued, almost as if he was talking to himself, "I know you must be hungry, but I don't want to make you sick again."

He turned, and she heard him pouring something, and suddenly there was cool water at her lips.

When she would have grabbed the glass and drained it, he moved it away from her, warning, "Slow, small sips." He put it down, well out of her reach, on a table next to a big bed.

How had she missed that enormous piece of furniture when she'd first come in? It was nearly as big as the entire room.

Oh, yeah. Dead men all around her.

She shivered at the thought, feeling his arms close instantly around her, supporting her, encouraging her to lean back against him as he removed the cloak he'd put on her only a few minutes ago.

"Wait – I want to keep that and wear it!" she protested, making a feeble grab for it.

He ignored her to turn and throw it outside the door before closing it again. Then he walked to the far end of the room and opened the door she'd missed in her cursory glance around the place before she began to heave.

"Bathroom," was all he said.

Emmy did not move.

He sighed heavily, taking about two strides to commandeer her hand and pull her along with him back to the door, then pushing her inside. "Toothbrushes and toothpaste in the cabinet. Make your ablutions and come back out."

Emmy took her time, thankful for the actual working facilities – even toilet paper – as well as the opportunity to brush her teeth and rid herself of that awful, fetid flavor that lingered in her mouth.

Having already noted that there was no lock on the door, and therefore no real need to take a stand and bar herself in the small room, she finally opened the door. The half of her that could still think – barely – hoping that he wouldn't be there when she did so and the other – much less civilized half – elated when he was.

He gave her a cursory glance and held out the glass again, taking it away from her when she made to gulp it all down at once. "Must I thrash your bottom every time I want you to obey me, girl?" he asked casually. "And do not make the mistake of doubting that – if that is what it takes, to get you to do as you are told, then that is what I will do."

She ignored his blatant threat, stating as firmly as she was physically capable of doing, "I'm not a girl – I'm a woman."

"Yes, yes you are," he said, his voice lowering dramatically as he crowded her away from him until she fell onto the bed on her back, watching him cage her in with his big body, already drowning in the vast, bottomless well of desire he could so easily inspire in her, already losing the ability – the will – to fight him.

But he didn't take her this time. Instead, he removed his loincloth, spooned her into his arms and pulled the covers over the both of them, commanding, "Sleep."

As much as she didn't want to obey him, her body seemed to enjoy doing exactly as he told her to do, and she was asleep in seconds.