Work Text:
Its stomach growled and muscles ached. It bared its teeth and tasted the air, heavy with acid and rust.
The job should've been done by now, should be snuggled up with her by now…Did it make a mistake? No, no that wasn't possible. It did exactly as she instructed and made thrice sure that this was the place: It'd prepared its worksite as well, cut the power and silenced the phone lines of the abandoned 'safe house' hours ago…Its burner hadn't rang once, no warning to leave or indicator that the job had gone sideways…No, the hunt was just starting later than usual.
Its stomach protested, a gurgling noise that broke the silence of the abandoned office space. It shouldn't have eaten all of the treats she'd given it but it couldn't help itself; breaking in, sharpening its tools, severing life lines, it all took a toll. Plus, she insisted it needed to maintain its daily exercises still. It wasn't the same without the dopamine rush of thousands of online eyes watching it, the thrill of preforming for an unseen audience of captivated fitness freaks, and the money they threw its way…But at the very least she knew exactly how to reward it for all its hard work. The praise, the touches, the gentle words and firm, groping touches…
A whine escapes its lips -muffled by the leather mask and metal zipper- as it gently rutted against the wooden handle between its legs. The fabric of its black sweat pants was baggy but barely able to hide its excitement, just as its mask couldn't contain its girlish and desperate panting.
It was famished -needy- It wanted its quarry; it wanted to feel the rush of adrenaline and dopamine, it wanted her-
No, bad, focus…Need to stay alert, stay ready, she'd given it a job; rewards were for later.
It'd been tapping its foot incessantly, the laces of its white runners bouncing back and forth in rhythm with the sway of the axe head held between its thighs. It didn't like waiting. Waiting gave way to idle thinking, and idle thinking always gave way to bad things.
'Got time to back out, time to run…Why would I? Where would I go? Nowhere, that's where…Stupid thought, stupid beast…Gotta focus, lock-in, grindset, whatever-the-fuck just stop overthinking it.'
It cracked its knuckles -sensation deadened in its stitched on digit- and rolled its thick neck.
There wasn't time to get lost in greedy, desperate pleasure seeking or defeatist bullshit; It was better than this and always had been. Before the damned army, before the long gone fans and their attention, before even her. It was already an apex predator, it just took one depraved act to prove it and her to help nurture it.
A small chime cried out from the burner phone in its gloved palm.
Flipping open the old thing, it cracked a jagged smile under the distended mouth of the mask.
'Package enroute, sorry for the delay! Be sure to bring back two treats for the kids!'
It stood up and pocketed the now silent flip phone. No more time to waste on stupid thoughts and hunger pains.
It was time to work: time to hunt.
It stalked the halls of the abandoned warehouse, moving away from the office in the back and up to the walkways that loom over where the quarry would be arriving. It could hear them now: the growls of a struggling engine, the cracking of displaced gravel as the prey drove up to the moonlit building. It knew what they would do: they would arrive to find the power not working, they would separate to ensure the safety of their compromised safe house, and they would be easy to pick off and pick clean.
It ran its bare hand over its tight fitting tank top, wiping the sweat off of its palm, before scratching at its bare belly. It stood from above looking down on the dusty, empty loading bay, hiding in the shadows cast by a few abandoned boxes. As it heard the sound of boots on gravel and dirt and someone rushing to open the screeching metal gate it took the time to stretch and loosen up.
Strong arms contained by an old, worn jacket bulged against the fabric and a plush gut that slipped over the waistline of its patched up sweat pants. Once it was fixated on aesthetics and 'beauty', on a parasitic image of self seared into it by a thousand passing comments, a million 'well meaning' rotted pieces of advice, countless odious fucking advertisements and symbols of self hatred. Now? It was a well honed and well fed beast: a glutton that flourished under her guidance and heading its own needs.
Fat, fabric, and occasional body armour kept it alive and bore the scars of close calls and near-death highs; its rippling muscles and the wild, focused gaze under the stitched up mask were proof of its hard work and training. It was a perfect beast, ecstatic and writhing with life energy that drove it from job to job, hunt to hunt, reward to reward.
This was its moment, its time to shine for a braying audience.
They hadn't seen it yet, too focused on their little arguments and accusations -trying to figure out which one in the herd fucked their operation- but soon all they would be able to think about would be it.
"Fuck me, man…Did anyone see if Jesse made-"
"Nah, nah he got his fucking brains splattered by one of those psychos...Shit, I woulda figured he've been the one to rat us out if I didn't see 'em eat buckshot." Two of the more lively and fearful prey beasts spoke back and forth, guiding in a bullet ridden van towards its final stop. They were both big and bulky -doused in sweat like it as well- but they were weighed down by fatigue, Kevlar, and bloody wounds. Intimidating yet unfocused and letting their adrenaline wash away.
In total there were seven of them, most of them were scrawny sickly things but all of them were scavengers who'd ran off with what was left of their gutted organisation. Just as she said they would; they were smart enough to run when there was blood in the air, but not smart enough to look up.
"God…Shit, okay…Okay, fuck!" The leader of the pack, a loud and shrill thing with too much metal adorning its bony fingers, yelled as it kicked over a metal drum. The sound of it crashing against the ground silenced the sound of a knife being freed from a sheath.
"Right! Someone get the fucking lights back on and the heating working. We're spending one, one single night in this fucking shit hole and then we're skipping town for…For I don't know, the city? Next town over?! I-I don't know." The 'leader' continued, their words as unconvincing as the dye job trying to cover greying roots.
It waited and watched. The two muscle bound things -the bulls- stood around their leader while the rest of the herd scattered. One of the herd was making its way towards the office, towards the ruined power lines, and they would be the first.
It followed behind, savouring the build up and the tension only it felt pounding in its heart. Its prey was panting and exhausted, a scared little thing that was trying to calm itself with a 'snack.' A protein bar that it remembered from now deleted ads it once made, ads the company no doubt have tried to bury; It remembered the taste, a vile, sickly sweet thing that tasted of cheap nondescript 'fruit', protein powder, and a chalky imitation of chocolate…The memory made it wretch behind its mask, sickened it.
The scared thing only had a moment to notice a faint growl before a gloved hand was clamped over the cattle's gnashing teeth and a disposable knife was forced through the tender flesh on the cow's back, into the kidneys. The garbage 'food' in its hand tumbled to the floor and -amusingly to it- out of the cattle's mouth. The dying beast couldn't scream, simply wheeze and thrash, as the knife was pulled free and it kicked the animal forward.
The fattened cow cracked its skull against the concrete floor; skull fragments and 'chocolate fruit' mixing with sticky blood. With its first kill now stunned and soon to pass, it left the meat behind to rot. It didn't want that thing, anything that was dumb enough to eat that synthetic crap wasn't fit for it.
Stepping out of the abandoned office it watched as another cow walked around the corner. It waited to be seen, it wanted to be seen, needed the thrill of the hunt to properly start.
There was blood in the air and the prey beast could smell it over the scent of its own sweat and acidic perfume. The prey beast looked up, saw the looming leather clad face of an apex predator, and screamed. The arterial spray from the howling beast painted the metal walls of the warehouse a lovely crimson as the knife was thrown and properly disposed of, finding its final home where the neck and chuck cuts would be outlined and segmented. The beast staggered back from its hunter and into the frantic flashlights of the herd. It stood for a moment to watch the way the rays of light shake, to hear the screams of panicking beasts and the click of firearms being readied.
The hunt had only just begun but it knew this wouldn't take long.
It ducked and weaved and loped from cover to cover, box to box, shelf to shelf, as bullets were wasted shooting at looming shadows and the shimmer of rhinestones and a metal zipper in the dark; firing at the stitch covered eyes of an apex predator spoken of in hushed tones and disgusted reverence. They were lambs led to the slaughter, but they deserved a proper show before they died.
They deserved to know the legends were real, that it was real.
It waited till the second gun clicked empty before it bounded out into the open, illuminated by five blinding spotlights. It was the perfect time to shine as they watched it sink an axe head into one of their supposed bulls. The polished and well sharpened axe head split open ribs -likely ruining the tender organ meat stuffed within- but this one wasn't for gutting either way; it only needed the bull for the muscle and leather.
Dragging it along with the axe embedded in the bull, bearing the repeated strikes from clumsy fists, it laughed with a raspy voice as its plan worked. The cattle panicked and opened fire all the same, no love or loyalty among diseased prey beasts. The bull's Kevlar held up well, but it did nothing to save its steroid infused shank meat and now ventilated skull.
As it once more raced back into cover, behind crates and empty drums, the last bullet that was lodged into the meat of its improvised shield caused a spray of precious blood to stain the well tended leather of its mask. It went to growl -to whine- about the work it'd have to put in later to keep its precious mask stain free…But its agitation gave way to rapturous bliss.
The warm blood drips through the sealed, metal teeth of its snout and the scent of freshly claimed victory gives way to a rush of dopamine and satisfaction that it almost wants to rut and whine and give in already. It can't of course, there's still a hunt to see to its conclusion, but that moment brings with it such clarity.
"I-I got the bitch!" One of the cattle, a young wannabe bull, cries out as it fired wildly towards its hiding position; the wiz of bullets passing well over it letting it know this cattle was no threat. It waited for the sound of yet another click, poor firearm discipline really did get you killed.
The young thing cried out -or more accurately gurgled- as the bloodied axe head split open their skull. Lumpy, misshapen grey matter stains the blood and white bone that flows down the length of the brown, varnished wood of the handle. It was a scrawny bull withered by drugs and poor habits…A poor thing, it almost felt bad.
Almost.
Pulling the axe free had the unintended effect of dragging the dead 'bull' over the barrel it'd been hiding behind. the split faced corpse provided some extra cover from the slowly dying bullet fire.
"F-Fuck! Kill her, kill her, kill that fucking thing!" A heifer yelled out, too thin and frail to be anything else. They were out of bullets and instead wielding a bat. The heifer slowly backed away from the place it had been hiding. Once more it found a path up to the walkways close to the ceiling of the warehouse, once more it loomed from the comfort of shadows.
Once more -this time as it leapt from the railing- it was surprised cattle never looked up.
The heifer's pretty bones cracking was music to its ears, their screams the perfect accompaniment. Its twiggy arms and legs bent at such odd angles as it forced it into the ground, runners stained black and red as it took a moment to press down on the heifer's delicate neck and twist; a clear 'pop' rang out as it looked up towards the charging bull.
The heifer was easy to kill and easier to forget, but this bull? This writhing mass of glistening meat and muscle? A wall of well honed flesh marked only by scars and piercings? They were the perfect beast to fight, the perfect beast to gore.
They were taller than it, but as their fists connected with its bare and bandaged chest it knew that they weren't nearly as strong. Hell, she hit harder than this bull.
They were able to wind it, spittle seeping through the sealed zipper and staining the mask further, but not able to down it before an axe head was swung up and into their outstretched arm. The fat and muscle of their shank parted beautifully and revealed the folds and layers of skin, fat, muscle, and even the bone as the axe failed to go all the way through. The bull was well built and stocky -the end result of years of hard work and self love- but they didn't have the discipline to keep up the fight as their gored arm swung open near the elbow joint; the bull tried to stagger back as it tackled the prey beast to the ground.
It didn't want to ruin the meat and it didn't have time to waste as the supposed leader decided to run…The pathetic, sickly thing clad in metal and a cheap suit had the perfect chance to try and kill it, end its legend in one violent send off to save the loyal bull…And instead the leader tries to flee. The leader wasn't the getaway driver, the keys for that silent van lost among the meat, so the leader ran like startled cattle always does.
It wanted to run then and there, on all fours with bared teeth, but there was prey already ensnared beneath it.
It placed one of its knees firmly over their remaining functional arm and then worked its hands onto the screaming maw of the cattle pinned under it. Bare hand on the mandible, gloved hand on the maxilla, it hummed soothingly to the bull. It needed to act quickly, but it liked this one. This bull put up a fight, even as it split their skull apart with its bare hands, bathing its forearms and jacket sleeves in gurgled blood.
Once the bull was dead, or at least couldn't stop it, it ripped out the axe and calmly stalked the fleeing sole survivor; It wasn't impressed but it was excited to better itself. By the time it'd reached the boundary of the old metal gate the survivor was nearly two dozen feet away…It could catch the fleeing animal, run them down and tear them apart.
But it wanted to show off, needed to prove it had talent and wits to match the primal strength and savagery.
It breathed in.
It breathed out.
It raised its axe overhead and lined it up. She wanted this one alive, she'd punish it if it fucked up. That made it all the more excited.
It breathed in.
It threw the axe; it soared through the air with a flwump that was silenced with a meaty thud and a howling, blood curling scream as the axe forced the 'survivor' to the ground as the blade now rested in its round, just avoiding the femoral vein.
It breathed out.
It smiled as it loped over to the crawling, writhing beast. It almost felt sorry for the little thing: the sickly cow was trying to talk to it.
"Wait! Wait, wait, please, fuck! I-I I've got money! I've got powerful friends! I've heard the stories, t-they're making you do this, right?! I can-"
It didn't really care, but it did think it was funny how shrill their cries were getting as it knelt down in front of the captured beast. From out of its back pockets it pulled out its flip phone and a simple bare minimum medical kit with some back alley painkillers stuffed inside; It hated using its own supplies for prey beasts, but she would be pissed if it fucked this and let the howling cattle bleed out like a stuck pig. One hand pressed speed dial to signal for a pick up, the other idly stroke the beast's patchy hair.
"A-Are you fucking listening to me?! You brain fried bitch, pay attention to me! W-We can get outta this, yeah?!"
It growled, grabbing hold of the cattle's poorly dyed hair and dragged them up to its muzzle. The beast whimpered as it shushed it, talking while someone else was on the phone was rude.
Someone answered the call.
"Yeah?" It was its driver, like always. It liked him.
It gave a soft, happy grunt.
"Okay." He hanged up. It was all he needed to hear.
With the job basically over it permitted itself to let the rush of dopamine and pleasure to drown out the lingering pain in its chest. Bruises would develop and she would lavish them in kisses and touches and attention and it had done such a good job! She would reward it and feed it and it would soak in all of this-
"No! You lobotomised bitch! Fucking, don't do this to me, plea-"
It growled, a heated and breathy thing as its daydreaming was dashed and it was brought back to the yet-to-die meat. It shifted onto its knees and pressed one down harshly on the cattle's neck, hoping to keep it silent and fearing death as it went to work. It readied the medical kit, then yanked the axe free with little delicacy.
It deeply enjoyed the way the thrashing, braying cattle writhed under it.
The cattle had passed out by the time it was finished bandaging its ruined thigh. It doubted they would wake up and try a runner again before the driver got here, but it wasn't a careless performer. No matter what life it'd led it was always a professional; a professional soldier, professional athlete, and now a professional hunter.
With that professional grindset, it put in the extra work to secure the cattle's frail wrists together with zip ties along with its ankles. She would've done it better, she was always better at handling the meat, but she didn't mind if it did it wrong; it was only meat after all.
It carried the captured cattle back into that blood stained 'safe house' and dropped it gracelessly onto a stack of dusty sacks. The cattle couldn't flee again and the driver would be there soon to pick it up, but it wasn't done.
Its stomach growled fiercely.
Its need for adrenaline and dopamine was sated but not its hunger.
It needed to find some fresh meat for her.
Most of the herd was poor stock, sickly, but not the bull. That bull with the split open mouth was perfect, and out of a sense of mercy for the perfect prey beast it crushed the busted skull under foot when it noticed the bull was still gurgling; a fighter to the end.
The driver would help carry the meat -he was nice to it like that- but for now all it had to do was wait and rest. It sat down next to the gory mess and breathed deep the scent of its hard work. The warehouse was silent aside from the occasional dripping of pooled blood, the nocturnal beasts were always silent wherever it prowled, and now all it could hear and feel was the pulse of its own heart.
It couldn't undo the zipper, it wasn't feeding time and it hadn't been granted that permission again yet…But it didn't need to open its second row of teeth to drink deep. It ripped the tattered shirt of the dead bull and carefully sliced open a small incision on its abdomen, close to the short plate, watching the blood pool and spill out of the cut. It wasn't going to waste that rich wine, but it did enjoy the way the fresh water of life stained the bull's cheap trousers and pale body. It pressed its bare hand down into the blood, feeling the folds of flesh part for it like a lover, before reclining against the concrete floor of the warehouse so it can better lounge and relax. It brought the blood slick fingers up to its muzzle and after ensuring its shaggy brown mane wasn't in the way, it let the trickles of blood flow freely down onto its sealed metal lips.
It was a starved, needy beast and as the blood wets its real lips it feels a sliver of relief. The streams of warm life almost shock it, a reverberating feeling of pleasure and sustenance that drowns out any thoughts of desperate pleasure seeking or defeatist bullshit; it was an apex predator, it was a professional hunter, it was a good hound, and this was simply an appetiser before the real reward when it gets home.
It fantasised about what meal might await it...
Fresh cooked steak, fatty and well crisped bacon, a rack of ribs…Offal and organ maybe? Kidney pies? Lamb chops, blood pudding, cured cuts…
It panted in hunger-in need. Its stained mask reeked of blood and sweat, its hot breath was clouding its view. The blood wouldn't be enough. It was desperate -famished- and it needed more than meat, it needed so much more than just meat.
Relief, warmth, pleasure, sustenance, her.
The ride home was quiet, the driver never played music and rarely spoke. It liked that about him.
When the captured cattle woke up it didn't take much to gag it. The driver had been kind enough to prepare some kit in advance; always such a helper, that guy. The drive back to base was bumpy, at times messy as the dead and wriggling meat kept thrashing about in the back with it, but it didn't mind.
The scent of fresh blood, cries of terrified cattle, even the driver's bitching about the perpetual smog and grime that clinged to this miserable town: all of it was just the atmosphere of a well earned victory. These were trophies, accolades, that she would reward.
The gravel and backwoods gave way to fog choked streets and asphalt, in time that gave way to blistered concrete and abandoned industrial zones. Once the lifeblood of this town, now little more than an abattoir for unruly cattle and braying contenders.
The armoured van rolled to a stop and the back doors swung open; the driver stood there, sunken and hollow eyes behind a ski mask greeting his masked 'partner.' He didn't say anything as he watched it carry the dead body over one shoulder and the squirming one over the other, simply giving an impressed nod. He looked between the spilt blood that the plastic tarp in the back had failed to contain and let out a huff. He was gonna be working overtime and that made it happy; maybe he'd stick around for dinner time.
He thumped it on the chest and flashed a faint smile, a silent little 'good job' that felt all the sweeter when he slid a few cigarettes into its pants pocket. she didn't often let it smoke, but he was a bad influence in all the best ways. It gave an appreciative smile under the hood, and a gruff laugh at their shared, mischievous secret.
While he got to work, it walked proudly towards its home.
By now its stomach was howling out the call for its own hunt: It was a strong beast, but it needed sustenance. Blood and glory could only fuel a body at its zenith for so long, and exhaustion was causing its obscured vision to feel clouded by stars and static.
Stepping through the cracked open fire escape, down the dimly lit passageways, and worming its way into the heart of the old factory it found her in their home away from the world.
When it had used this factory as its self-imposed cell the building was a cold, rusted thing that groaned in chorus with the gnawing, killing hunger it had denied itself. Now with her at the centre of its life the gutted factory was a bright and welcoming sanctuary, an escape from the world that only it, she, and he knew about. The windows were covered by pretty, well kept sheets to blot out the light and the floor was covered in countless shaggy carpets aside from the sections it walked to ferry fresh catches in; the path it walked was tiled with blood stains and plastic tarps.
There were rudimentary walls erected to section off their expansive 'living room' and pathways that led to their personal corners of the defunct factory. The air was heavy with the scent of beautifully cooked and spiced food, a hearty and fatty meal for a hound who had done its job so well and with such care.
It was excited -no that was too simple. It was giddy, prancing like a school girl coming home or a blushing newly wed returning to their beloved's side. It'd been so good, it held back and didn't kill the snivelling bullock getting snot all over its only nice jacket, it didn't draw too much attention to itself, it sat alone in the dark for too long hungry and scared and now it was time for her!
It wasn't able to contain its excitement, it was yipping and it didn't care. The bull was dead and the bullock would be as well shortly, the only one who would hear was her, and she laughed with velvet love when she heard it coming home. She was hard at work at the oversized griddle she'd made from the old, now reworked and well-loved parts; she was good at that, at finding the beauty in discarded, broken things and making them shine with new found purpose. She'd turned away from the hard work, not just the griddle flat top but also the phone that was perched on her broad shoulder. With a nod of the head, she finished her call and stuffed the heavy phone away.
Her work didn't matter, it was back.
"There you are! I'm so proud of you, darling, come here!" She was elated, hazel eyes like sunshine sparkling as she watched it run full tilt over to her. It had the good sense to drop both of its catches to the plastic covered floor before it threw itself bodily into her. It couldn't help itself, it buried its head against her core seeking out the soft warmth of her belly. One of its hands tried fruitlessly to sink its fingers in through the fabric to grab at the woman beneath it all. She laughed politely, expecting the overpowering affection, and as it'd only gotten blood and grit on her heavy black apron there was no reason to be mad at it.
She smelled of cooked pork, sage, rosemary, and thyme, but also of rosewater lokum and some garish liquor she was fond of but always seemed to irritate it…It didn't mind, this was her scent and everything about her was precious; It pressed its warped mask against the thick apron, inhaling the meaty, bloody scent that suffused her while she removed a nitrile glove to rake her fingers through its hair.
The sensation, the scent, the way her steel capped boot raised off the floor to rest against its crotch, to keep it from fully sinking into the ground as she played with its shaggy hair: this is what it was all for. The warmth of her body and the sizzling griddle, the loving pressure of her fingers against its scalp and how she gently works around the leather straps keeping the mask in place; the way she doesn't mind as it whimpers and grinds against her leg, pressing its animalistic excitement against her fat thigh and its head deeper into her welcoming body. She could take a cleaver in her free hand and start separating its empty head from its bountiful body and it wouldn't protest or struggle; this was its reason for existing, this was what it always came back to after every hard hunt and near death high.
"Our contractor is very impressed with your work tonight, and bringing back that opportunistic leech? That will earn us extra." Her words were enough to cause a shiver to run down its spine. It wasn't right for any human or animal to have this kind of sway over its feelings but she'd earned it; she found it starved and half mad, found it desperate and in need of help and at risk of going back to life alongside the prey beasts.
Nothing could fix it, but she made it want to live: there was something beyond the hunt -beyond meat.
She kept talking, her voice ambrosia to an ailing mind. "You did so well for me, and I know it took longer than we planned…Do you want your reward now, or f-"
"Food!" It barked out, its voice raspy and harsh from going unused for too long. She didn't like the interruption -she still had a syllable to utter after all- but she did always like to lay her hands on it. The slap was deadened slightly by the leather hiding away its face, but it did feel its wild mane being firmly pulled on. A whine escaped its lips as it felt a few strands of hair being ripped free from its scalp, little jolts of sensation that took its mind off the gnawing hunger.
"Bad dog…You’re not permitted to use words while your muzzle is in place, remember?" Her first few words came out coated in vile, authoritative hate, but it was washed off by the true and passionate love she held for it; it didn't mean to be bad, it just gets so excited…
"Come along now, darling." She ordered in a sing-song tone as she dragged it over towards the improvised stove. "Stay." She continued to instruct as it could only fall down to its shaking knees while staring up at its lover and coordinator.
It was the star of the show -always was and always will be- but she was the brains to its unrelenting brawn. She was the one who saw its real potential, the one who handles 'interfacing' with the yapping prey, dealt with the occasional pig playing hero and took the unimportant parts of their shared work and turned it into a future for the both of them.
Investments, property, shaking hands and greasing wheels, it didn't have the love and skill for it the same way she did. It was more than happy to entrust her with such intangible things while it focused on the work and the real fruits of its labour.
The pork sizzled and popped on the griddle top, fat and oil threatening to spill over and onto the floor; if it did than it would lap it up dutifully, it needed this more than anything.
"I've gone ahead and put aside this pig's equipment for your usage later; I know your aversion to firearms but this next contract will be…Difficult with just your axe." Oh, so it was pork for dinner! Good, the pig was going to start rotting if she hadn't gotten to it. "Barely listening, are you?" She sighed fondly, grabbing a plate and stacking it high with the sizzling meat. It saw the way they dripped with juices, the way they spat and crackled with residual heat and oil and rendered fat and it felt an overpowering, gnawing hunger. It was getting close to the breaking point and to making desperate, depraved mistakes. She knew this and wasn't going to let it suffer -not like it tried to do to itself so long ago.
She knelt down to eye level with her lover, its bare hand scratching at the space where the bottom of its mask kissed its pale skin. Her body was broad, tanned, well-worked with only amble amounts of softness to cover the rugged and hardened body of a 'retired' killer. She wore such beautiful sun dresses, any and all the colours of the rainbow and with such captivating patterns, Her black hair tied up in a tight ponytail or flowing freely over her solid shoulders; her smile was effortless, revealing a few chipped teeth and endless love.
Compared to her it felt it must look ghoulish and uncouth: a pudgy and muscle bound beast in filthy workout clothes with a jacket that lost its lustre long ago, but she always made it feel special and feel so well looked after.
"Aww, a few of the rhinestones on your collar have fallen off…Not to mention these cuts…Take it off for me, darling, and I'll fix it before your next show, okay?" She didn't have to ask, it always appreciated her hard work and discarded the jacket readily. Its hairy arms were adorned with faded scars and burn marks, but as she ran her free hand up the length of its arm and to its muzzle it suddenly didn't feel anything other than beautiful.
Beautiful and loved.
"Now. I'm going to feed you, and then we'll get on to your reward…Remember your standing orders, okay, darling?" She said sweetly as she grabbed the zipper and parted its metal teeth, revealing the panting, open maw beneath. It didn't need to speak -it shouldn't speak- it just nodded obediently.
She gently cupped its cheek in one hand and made it watch as she grabbed a slice of glistening, dripping meat. Was it ham? Loin? Bacon? It wasn't sure, but as she slid her delicate fingers through the jagged row of opened metal teeth she forcibly pressed the meat into its tongue.
The flavour was deep and rich: seasoned in the perfect blend of aromatic, earthy herbs, salt, pepper, and so many other sensations it couldn't identify. There was also the mouth feel, how the delicate meat parts and melts against its fangs and teeth. Along with the dripping meat and spices there was also the sweet taste of powdered sugar that seemed to cling to her fingers, the taste of flesh under her nails. It worked its tongue around her fingers before graciously claiming its first slice of food, waiting until her hand was removed to bite down.
It watched her hand as it went from its muzzled mask down to the plate. Its eyes lingered on the missing pinky and the single joint of the ring finger on her left hand: the hand she always used to feed it. Once it made the mistake of biting too early, when it was too hungry and she was too inviting to its fucked animal mind, but she was forgiving and it had never made the mistake of biting her again.
Never again.
She also always insisted on hand feeding it and on caressing its chin, or its jaw, maybe its hair, while it ate. At first it was to make sure it actually ate what she lovingly cooked for it, ensuring it wasn't being ungrateful and wasting the fruits of their labour. This was so long ago, back when it was a stupid scared beast, but she still loved this little loving act of tenderness they both cherished. The way she giggled or softly sighed, the way her caressing touch had only grown more fond as the days turned to months to years…
It barely processed the passing of time, only focusing on the rich flavours that it devoured graciously; the scent of cooked pork wafting through the mask that would certainly need a clean. It did register when her hand went from its sharp jaw down to its shapely neck, down past its breasts before settling on its tummy.
"There you are…Such a good hound, I knew you were starved but this is…Impressive, you've almost devoured the whole pig! Look at this." She let out a hushed breath as its eyes shifted from her burning stare to look at its blotted stomach, at how the sweat and some of the spilled juices had intermingled together on its bare skin. She was groping and playing with its belly, careful to not upset its feeding time but unable to stop herself as she admired their hard work.
"You're a perfect hunter, a perfect beast…I want you to feel my love in every bite, in every reward and every successful hunt, do you understand?" She spoke a hushed tone, her voice heavy with lust and pride as she watched its head hang back. It let out a pitiful whine; her body was shaking as it was lost to the twin pleasures of meat and her attention.
By the time the plate was empty the only thing it could focus on was the salty taste on its lips and the way she was staring through the obscured eye holes of its now bloody, greasy mask to stare into it.
She went to say something, stroking both its stuffed belly and its wild hair, before the sound of thrashing and gurgled breathing dragged her attention towards the incessant, disgusting bullock.
"Hmph…Still need to question him…Buttttt, you're more important." She spun a finger in front of it before pressing it against the 'nose' of its mask-muzzle, getting a gruff giggle out of the well-fed beast. "What reward do you have in mind?"
Its mind ran with countless thoughts and ideas…It could've asked for something practical for their work, something garish and entirely 'it' for its private nest…But every thought and every sense -every desire- was fixated on her alone.
It still hungered.
It whined.
"Your 'mouth' is open, hound, you can talk." She tittered with prideful glee.
"Can…Can I…You, I want you…" It panted, eyeing the way her apron was draped over her beautiful body and how the dress was riding up her wide thighs; captivated at the way the sweat of cooking had caused her body to glisten under the dim lights of their home. "I want you to sit on my snout, please. I want to taste you, my love."
It gently grabbed the sleeves of her dress, leaning in to feel her gentle softness and the strength underneath it all. It shuddered as it felt the way her body jiggled as she laughed at its request. She ran her fingers from the top of its scalp and down its spine. The way it fluttered and moaned told her it needed a massage on top of all the other maintenance she would need to do for her hound.
"That's what you'd wish for? Oh, darling, of course…Where would-"
"Here, now, fuck, pleaseeee~" It whined, mounting her thigh as it rutted its straining arousal against her body.
"And what of him?" She asked simply, nodding her head towards the dazed bullock who was looking up in mortified horror at the earnest, passionate love before him.
"It's just dying meat; Who fucking cares, love?" It insisted -begged- as it daringly ran a hand under the heavy apron so it could feel the folds of her stomach, the way the fabric stretched to accommodate her amble strength and bountiful chest. The stifled moans that escaped her lips only spurred on the beast inside it.
"F-Fuck me, darling…Why the hell not? Dead men tell no tales." She giggled like a love drunk teenager, permitting herself to join in with its sick puppy's desires. She grabbed hold of its neck firmly and suddenly adopted a stern tone.
"I'm going to remove your mask for this, do you understand? I don't want you lashing out, darling." She told it firmly, stroking its chin in a soothing manner.
It didn't care. It needed to taste her, feel her warmth and her weight upon it.
It simply whined impatiently, slick staining the front of its filthy sweat pants.
"Good dog." She smiled serenely as she carefully raised the straps of its mask, pushing up the distended 'wolf' mask made of stitches, leather, and a metal zipper.
The bullock let out a whimper of fear as he watched it lower itself to the floor, back firmly planted as it stared up reverently at the woman which now towered over it.
The bullock knew that no one in this diseased town had seen the Hunter with the mask off and lived; all who saw that sick fuck's face had died or were taken, ending up as its food…It always sounded like Grimm's fairy tale bullshit, the bogeymen stories that criminals told each other over drinks. He'd never believed it, but as he saw the mane of hair move and as he saw the features of its captor and soon-to-be butcherer, he couldn't help the mounting fear that overwrites human sense and sanity. The bullock screamed in terror and disgust as she lowered her supple ass onto its outstretched, lapping tongue.
She shuddered when it possessively stuck its claws into the well fed, plump ass that now hid its face better than its own mask. She cursed and wailed in maddened bliss as that elongated tongue worked its way across her hole to savour the taste. She panted like her hound always did during the hunt when that bestial tongue pressed in through the tight hole it fantasied about in the middle of its maddened ruts.
It savoured the hunt, it savoured every bite, and it savoured every prey beast that crossed its path with a fixated desire that only meat could satiated. But her?
It worshipped her. It worshipped her body and her moans, it worshipped every part of its generous owner.
It was a devotee before the goddess of the Hunt and the Hearth.