Making an Example

Her grip was like iron, and she caught one of my wrists in her other hand, wrenching it back and pushing me forward so that my torso was parallel to the ground. My long hair fell over my face, and I winced as she forced my arm into an unnatural angle. It was some kind of martial arts move, like she was putting me in a stress position, threatening to wrench my limb out of its socket as she applied more pressure. It didn't hurt enough to make me cry out in pain, but it was extremely uncomfortable and she had complete control over me.

"You can't run," she cooed, "there's nowhere you can go that I can't find you."

She was frighteningly strong. Her toned muscles weren't just for show, they were functional, and I got the impression that she was only leveraging a fraction of her strength to hold me completely helpless.

"What say you and me spend a little quality time together? We can talk about these issues that you've been having, a little heart to heart..."

She was so strong, impossible to fight off, and she led me over to the bed like she was holding me by a leash. When I got close enough to the edge of the mattress, she curled her tail around my feet, letting go of me and tripping me in an almost comical fashion so that I fell forward onto the bed.

I landed on my face, bouncing on the mattress as I heard her chuckle from somewhere behind me. When I managed to right myself, rubbing my sore arm, I turned to see her holding a bundle of chains. They were long, made from heavy, black metal links that clanked together as they spilled from her hands. They had appeared from nowhere, as if by magic.

"Where the hell did those come from?" I sputtered, unable to conceal my surprise.

"The same place I got this stogie," she said, removing a long cigar from her mouth and blowing a smoke ring in my direction. "This is what you wanted, right?" Her lips were still curled into that wild grin, and she was breathing heavily through her nose like an angry bull that was preparing to charge. "This is what you fantasized about it, isn't it? This is what you imagined me doing to you in the depths of night, when you thought that you were alone and your thoughts were private? Is this what those degenerates that you call your 'fans' wanted to see?"

"I said that I was sorry," I pleaded, "I promised never to do it again. What more do you want from me? Just tell me, and I'll do it."

"I want you to learn," she said, the chains scraping along the floor as she inched towards me.

She climbed onto the bed and pinned me beneath her immense weight, the chains seeming to move under their own power, almost like metal snakes. They wrapped around my wrists, digging into my flesh uncomfortably, rendering my arms immobile as she straddled me.

Her thighs were as hard as the steel that comprised those chains, squeezing my hips in a vice grip, firm muscle bulging from beneath the subtle layer of fat that gave her such a comely figure. She could probably have crushed a bowling ball to dust between them.

Her musculature was suddenly so visible beneath the glow of the naked light bulb that lay just above her head, as if I was noticing it for the first time. Her purple jumpsuit was at tight as latex, like it had been painted onto her skin, the contours of her body easily visible beneath the unidentifiable fabric. The light cast dark shadows that accentuated her abs, twin rows of bunched muscle that protruded from her otherwise flat belly to such an extent that they cast their own shadows. They were so defined, as if they had been chiseled from marble by a sculptor, flexing and shifting gently as her body moved. I could make out the bones of her wide hips, the indent of her navel, the subtle mound between her legs...

"See something you like?" Exampla asked, peering down at me with those cyan eyes, glittering like emeralds as she exhaled a puff from her cigar. I blushed, unable to formulate a reply, and she shot me a toothy grin.

Above those washboard abs were a pair of heavy breasts, suspended by the fabric with no bra visible beneath it. The clothing was so tight that it strained to contain them, the two massive globes wobbling gently as she shifted her weight. They looked like they were one step away from bursting out of her jumpsuit, each one of them larger than my own head. Why did a reptile need breasts? The question lingered in my mind, even as I watched them sway, blood beginning to flow to somewhere that it shouldn't.

She reached down with a curved claw and pressed it gently against my throat, the pointed tip digging in my skin. I froze, not even daring to breathe, and then she began to move down. She sliced open the collar of my worn sweater, along with the t-shirt that I was wearing underneath it, cutting the fabric like a hot knife through butter. She wasn't even applying much pressure, which said a lot more about the sharpness of her talons than it did about the quality of my attire.

She seemed to know exactly how deep to go to avoid filleting me like a freshly caught trout, yet she wanted me to feel it, leaving a stinging trail down to my belt line as she split the garments cleanly in half. She opened the two halves like a jacket, leaving my naked torso exposed, and a throb of fear shot through me. Exampla was unpredictable on the best of days, for all I knew she was about to perform a live vivisection.

I winced as she brought both hands down to my chest, pricking me with her claws. She was breathing heavily now, and I saw something that almost resembled hunger in her pitiless stare. I felt her fingers begin to drag down my torso, not applying enough pressure to break the skin and to draw blood, but just enough that her claws left burning welts. It was like she was painting and my skin was her canvass, my reptilian assailant making shapes and patterns, leaving stinging scratches in her wake. I knew that she was enjoying my squirming, her thighs tightening around me to hold me still as I strained against my bonds, the metal links clattering together. It was futile, I could not escape, all I could do was endure the pain as she made me her plaything.

She grew tired of it before long, pulling her hands away, and when I opened my eyes I saw her slip one of her fingers into her mouth to suck away a droplet of crimson blood that was clinging to her claw. I glanced down at myself, catching my breath. It looked like I had been attacked by a group of angry cats. My pale skin was criss-crossed with sore scratches, and I shivered as I saw that she had written her name on my belly. There she had broken the skin, a hint of blood visible, but it was nothing that could have been described as an injury.

"Pain is the most efficient teacher," she whispered, withdrawing her finger from her mouth and making slow circles with it on my stomach. Her touch was light, and it tickled, making my muscles spasm beneath it as if they were trying to recoil from her. "Sometimes telling a child that the stove is hot doesn't get the message across, sometimes you need to let them get burned. Not only will they learn their lesson, but they'll start listening better too. You need to learn to listen better, sugar pie. The question is, what will serve as our hot stove?"

She pulled her cigar from her mouth and tapped the end of, dropping a few particles of hot ash onto my belly. I squirmed as they burned me, glaring up at her.

"You look angry," she whispered, reaching down to brush my red cheek with her knuckles. It was an oddly gentle gesture, contrasting strangely with her cruelty. "Be as angry as you want, fight me all you want, it won't make a lick of difference..."

She leaned down towards my face, opening her jaws and exposing her rows of sharp, carnivore teeth. Her long tongue snaked forth, the length of tapered muscle glistening with her saliva, and she dragged it across my cheek. It was slimy, her flesh smooth and warm.

"You taste like fear," she said, her eyelids fluttering as if sampling my flavor was akin to snorting a line of coke. I felt her steely thighs shiver as she wet her black lips, peering down at me covetously. Whether she wanted to make love to me, or eat me, I had no idea. Her expression didn't reveal anything that I didn't already know, mostly that she was not of sound mind.

Suddenly she reached her hands down towards my neck. She did slowly, watching me with a smile far warmer than her cold intent, wanting me to anticipate what she was going to do to me next. As they neared my throat, poised to throttle me, I desperately tried to free my arms so that I might ward her off. The metal links clanked together, and I bucked and writhed beneath her, struggling against the tight bonds. If anything my fighting only seemed to please her more. She was like a little girl pulling the legs off a spider, toying with it, almost innocent in the way that she gleaned entertainment from the act of cruelty.

Finally the cool skin of her fingers brushed my throat, and I felt her digits wrap gently around my neck. She applied so little force at first, like she was cradling me, my heart pounding in my chest and my senses seeming to heighten as those wicked claws pricked my most vulnerable anatomy. She just waited, watching me react, feeling the blood pumping through my jugular veins and the flexing of my windpipe as I sucked in panicked gulps of air.

"So warm, so alive," she mused as her cyan eyes met mine. "But you could so easily not be. I would just have to squeeze, like so..." I felt her grip begin to tighten, not enough to choke me, but enough that it made me cease my squirming and lie still. "...then you'd be cold and silent. It would be so easy, you're such a helpless creature..."

Her fingers tightened again, this time cutting off my air supply. I tried to remain calm, to stay still so as to deny her the satisfaction of watching my reaction. She squeezed, her bosom bobbing as her chest rose and fell, her own breathing hastening as her excitement mounted. I held my breath for as long as I could, but after a short while my body's need for oxygen overrode my higher functions, punctuated by the jangling of my chains as I began to kick and struggle. I took in gasping breaths, sucking at nothing, my lungs burning as they made hopeless attempts to fill themselves.

Exampla watched me the whole time, as calm and as serene as I had ever seen her, drinking down every twitch and sputter as the color began to drain from my face. Finally she saw fit to release me, coughing and rasping as she allowed me to breathe again.

"How does it feel, being so helpless?" she asked, "knowing that I have absolute power over you? I'm not gloating, I genuinely want to know. I've never been in that situation before, I've never been someone's toy, their plaything. How does a mouse feel when at the mercy of a cat?"

I turned my head away, refusing to reply. She plucked the cigar from her mouth with one hand, then reached down and gripped my cheeks with the other. Her expression was fierce, but as I watched it softened, and she leaned down closer to me. Her black lips pressed against mine, and I lurched as I felt her long, sinuous tongue push into my mouth. It was like a living creature in its own right, tapered and slick with her saliva, writhing and twisting as it wormed its way inside me. She licked my inner cheeks, drew shapes on the roof of my mouth, her muscular organ twirling around my own as if teasing it.

She tasted of tobacco, smelled like it too, and as much as I disliked it I couldn't help but lean into her and return her impromptu kiss. She was so skilled, it was making my heart flutter despite my sorry situation, and my traitorous brain was beginning to associate her smoking with the unwelcome throbs of pleasure that were coursing through my body.

Her contact was so slippery and smooth, the metallic flavor of her saliva pricking my taste buds, her shiny lips smacking wetly as she forced me into a lurid embrace. It was impossible not to react to it, the bruises that were forming around my throat all but forgotten as her sensuous kiss dragged on. She was so gentle, loving, cradling my face in her hands as my brain began to fizz and pop. I felt like someone was flooding my mind with static. It became so hard to think, I could only feel as she worked her magic on me.

There was so much of it, her slimy coils piling into my mouth and bulging my cheeks, the pointed tip of her dexterous organ probing the back of my throat and threatening to choke me. It was long and thick, large even in the context of her exaggerated stature. It felt like she was painting the inside of my head with her saliva, strands of it leaking from our joined lips to dribble down my cheeks and hang from my chin in strands. She had such expert control over it, like it was more of an extra appendage than a simple tongue. Forget tying cherry stems, she could have cracked a combination lock with that thing.

She was such an artist with her organ, the slow and measured strokes like those of a painter's brush, my taut body slowly beginning to relax as reluctance gradually morphed into a willingness that surprised even myself. How could she switch gears so quickly? It was like there were two people inhabiting her head, one of them cruel and vicious while the other was doting and kind, and I never knew which one of them I was dealing with at any given moment.

As if to illustrate that point, she suddenly bit my tongue, pricking it with her sharp teeth and jolting me out of my state of nirvana. I felt a pang of pain and tasted the copper flavor of blood in my mouth as she drew back, wetting her lips as she looked down at me with a lurid expression.

"What's the matter?" she asked, "cat got your tongue?"

I grimaced, glaring at her angrily as I stuck out my tongue and ran my finger over its surface, the chains just slack enough to permit it. When I pulled my digit away, I saw only a small droplet of blood the size of a pinhead. She had not bitten me too hard, it was a love tap considering what those pointed teeth were probably capable of.

"You can't stop drawing me, right? What is it that you like so much about me exactly? What is it that captivates you so?"

My eyes were drawn to her belly, where she was digging her claws into her clothing. I watched, transfixed as she tore the bright purple fabric of her suit in one smooth motion, like Superman opening his jacket. She exposed the blue skin beneath, the sound of the tearing material loud in the otherwise silent room.

Under that tight-fitting garment, her azure stomach was impressively developed. I could make out each chiseled abdominal muscle as it bulged from beneath her taut belly, her six pack flexing and rippling as she moved, Exampla tensing them for my benefit as she watched me with her pitiless eyes. It looked like it had been chiseled from a block of solid marble, as if her torso belonged on a pedestal in some Roman gallery, a monument to the ideals of beauty and strength. It was almost too perfect, almost too toned, and once again I wondered if my tormentor was not simply a figment of an imagination gone out of control. I watched as the beads of sweat that were beginning to well on her smooth body followed the channels that her abs cut in her skin, catching the light, glistening like tiny diamonds as they rolled slowly downwards towards her navel.

"Is this what you want?" she asked, "should I sit before you in the nude and have you paint my naked body? Is that not the purpose of a muse, of a figure drawing model? Perhaps with a bowl of assorted fruits sitting on a stool at my side?"

She shuffled up my body, her weight oppressive, kneeling atop my already chained arms and pinning me even more hopelessly. Exampla looked down on me from on high as she slipped the cigar back into her mouth and took a draw from it, the crotch of her purple garment brushing against my chin as she straddled my face. I could feel the hard muscle of her thighs as they pressed around my head, closing like a vice.

I watched with wide eyes as she used the wickedly sharp claw on her index finger to shred her clothes, running it through the fabric like she was pulling down a zipper, the material above it parting as she went. She made an inverted Y shape, slitting the material down her belly and along her legs, letting it fall away. She didn't seem concerned that she was destroying her own clothes, perhaps they were just as ephemeral as the chains that bound me. Besides, the suit was so tight against her skin that I couldn't imagine how she would get into it, there were no visible buttons or zippers.

I felt the smooth skin of her inner thighs against my face, like polished stone, cooler than my red cheeks. I had a magnificent view of her abdominal muscles from this angle, the shadows cast by the naked light bulb that was now situated directly above her accentuating them, the droplets of sudor that clung to her refracting the glare. She peered down at me over the mound of her bust, still contained within her strange garment, straining against the fabric with its weight.

Her loins were poised only an inch or two above my face, her swollen lips dripping strands of clear fluid as she sat heavily on my naked chest. Her nethers were just as black as her tongue, flushed and moist, the sheen of womanly slime that clung to them shining like an oil slick where the light touched it. She was so wet, and I could feel the heat that she radiated on my face, her feminine scent rising to my nose. Exampla was so 'ready', I had known that she enjoyed toying with me, but I never imagined that it got her off to this extent. She was downright drooling in anticipation of what was to come.

My eyes tracked a glob of her viscous excitement as it dripped from her discolored flesh, falling onto my chest and sliding down towards my neck. I was transfixed for a moment, enraptured by her, and then I felt something brush my growing erection.

It was her tail, limber and flexible, Exampla coiling it around my shaft through the fabric of my pants and squeezing it. It felt like an anaconda was coiling itself around my member, and I got the sense that this pressure was only a fraction of what she could bring to bear.

"Does the sight of me excite you?" she asked as she exhaled a plume of smoke through her nostrils, already knowing the answer. Her tail squeezed tighter, and a pulse of pleasure rippled up my spine. The appendage was so muscular, and yet much like a snake, it was sheathed in a layer of cushiony fat. She waited a moment for me to reply, then squeezed again, harder this time. An unbecoming whine escaped my throat, and she seemed to enjoy that, watching me hungrily as I squirmed under her considerable weight.

"I want to hear you say it," she hissed, "say it..."

"Yes," I groaned.

"Yes to what?"

"Yes, you excite me..." I admitted.

"Such a good boy," she cooed, reaching down and running her taloned fingers through my hair. "Doesn't telling the truth to me, and to yourself, make you feel better?"

She rewarded me with another squeeze of her powerful tail, a gasp interrupting me as I attempted to answer her.

"Y-Yes."

She seemed to have calmed down a little, but just when I started to let my guard down, her grip on my hair tightened. She took a handful, yanking me closer, my cheek slapping against the wet skin of her belly. Her body smelled divine, like wet leather, and I could feel her abs pushing against me through her velvet skin.

She held me there, peering down at me with those emerald eyes, waiting. She knew me too well, perhaps as well as I knew myself if she was indeed a figment of my imagination as I sometimes suspected, the flexing of her firm muscles against my cheek and the gentle squeezing of her tail sapping my will to fight her.

I opened my lips and mouthed softly, tasting the salt of her sweat on my tongue as I traced the contours of her six pack. My resolve broke, the feminine scent of her body, her warmth and her taste overpowering me. She was so alive for a creature that might well be a hallucination, her alien skin as smooth as silk and slippery with moisture, my tongue gliding across it as her belly tightened at my touch.