05-29-2018, 07:32 PM
As he reaches out for me I lean away, but it is not enough to stop him. He reaches for my head, but despite the bravado of moments ago I make no effort to stop him. It takes more strength than I'd expected, but I do not cower away as I feel his warm breath near my bleeding poll. Ready for the sting of teeth, I am at first bewildered by his gentle touch. It does sting, but not with fresh pain. His mention of Arthas is met with a steely glare, though I still dared not react with Kwartz so near.
His attentions are careful and delicate, but as I turn a cautious head back to watch him I cannot help but anticipate the next attack. My nerves are already frayed, yet now they quiver beneath my skin. Alert. Wary. I cannot admit to myself that it is out of fear.
Despite my tone earlier, he had not lashed out. His touch remains soft and soothing, and with the amount of damage he has done, there is much soothing to be done. Though I know the decision is not wise, I force the emotion of calmness down the myriad of synapses in my mind. Relax, I tell myself, pressing the fear from my mind.
I am good at my tricks; I've been practicing since childhood after all. It takes only a moment, and the cool sensation trickles from the central knots of my head and heart down to the very ends of my feet. I sigh, my eyes half-closed in relief that is made all the sweeter by how short I know it must be.
The rumble of his voice rouses me somewhat, but there is nothing threatening in his tone and I begin to drift away again. Kwartz's breath is warm, and the little hairs along his lips tickle at the delicate skin along my thigh. I smother a giggle, flicking my tail to discourage him.
Oh.
Oh.
The relaxation drains away instantly, and I feel each of my weary nerves stand on end. My hooves feel frozen again, each locked to the forest floor. I should move away, I think, but I rock back instead. My traitorous hooves are willing to move if it is toward him, I find. The strength it takes to me to swallow a moan is also enough to lift a hindleg in a kick toward his yellow and purple chest. There's not enough space between us for it to gain momentum, but it does succeed in getting me away from his too soothing tongue for just long enough to think again.
"Don't do that again." I tell him. I mean any of it, all of it, the abuse and the aftercare. I must mean it. I have sworn that I am not like my mother, not in this way. I will not let a man hurt me and then forgive him the instant he plies me with tender words (or in my case, caresses). As if to assure myself of this, I stamp a blue-striped leg firmly on the leaf-strewn ground before turning to face him.
"I mean it."
His attentions are careful and delicate, but as I turn a cautious head back to watch him I cannot help but anticipate the next attack. My nerves are already frayed, yet now they quiver beneath my skin. Alert. Wary. I cannot admit to myself that it is out of fear.
Despite my tone earlier, he had not lashed out. His touch remains soft and soothing, and with the amount of damage he has done, there is much soothing to be done. Though I know the decision is not wise, I force the emotion of calmness down the myriad of synapses in my mind. Relax, I tell myself, pressing the fear from my mind.
I am good at my tricks; I've been practicing since childhood after all. It takes only a moment, and the cool sensation trickles from the central knots of my head and heart down to the very ends of my feet. I sigh, my eyes half-closed in relief that is made all the sweeter by how short I know it must be.
The rumble of his voice rouses me somewhat, but there is nothing threatening in his tone and I begin to drift away again. Kwartz's breath is warm, and the little hairs along his lips tickle at the delicate skin along my thigh. I smother a giggle, flicking my tail to discourage him.
Oh.
Oh.
The relaxation drains away instantly, and I feel each of my weary nerves stand on end. My hooves feel frozen again, each locked to the forest floor. I should move away, I think, but I rock back instead. My traitorous hooves are willing to move if it is toward him, I find. The strength it takes to me to swallow a moan is also enough to lift a hindleg in a kick toward his yellow and purple chest. There's not enough space between us for it to gain momentum, but it does succeed in getting me away from his too soothing tongue for just long enough to think again.
"Don't do that again." I tell him. I mean any of it, all of it, the abuse and the aftercare. I must mean it. I have sworn that I am not like my mother, not in this way. I will not let a man hurt me and then forgive him the instant he plies me with tender words (or in my case, caresses). As if to assure myself of this, I stamp a blue-striped leg firmly on the leaf-strewn ground before turning to face him.
"I mean it."
