I can't stop thinking about knotting a scared, confused and helpless pretty boy. Watching him stumble through the forest, bare feet bleeding as he trips over rocks and brambles, the scent of him almost thick with terror. Fat tears running over his cheeks and dripping onto his shirt, clinging to his skin as he shivers against the cold. He doesn't know here he is, where to go, only that he has to keep going. I want to spend hours watching him slowly break down, listening to each muffled sob and hiccup, his hyperventilating, those pants dissipating into the air. His fingernails are caked with dirt as he forces himself up and up again, time after time.
And when the sun goes down, when he can't see two feet ahead of him, I want to be the one that hunts him down. I want him to see me there, watching him, my jaw open and slick with saliva. I want him to cry; to start running with whatever energy he has left and fear to bite his ankles. I'd chase him, leisurely, sweetly, for the memory of his briefest hope, only to push him from the cliff side. Forcing him into the ground, claws hooked into his shoulders, our meeting accompanied by his wailing. "Please, anyone, help me-" he'd manage, before my jaw closes around the back of his neck. Tight enough to keep him quiet, loose enough to let my breath surround him. His limbs would twitch, fingers shaking and his pretty mouth struggling to stay quiet.
I want to lick his neck, taste his sweat and clean the grime from my prey. So good, my prey, so quiet and desperate, so much that he can't help from leaning into my warmth: the night is so, so cold and I'm the warmest thing he's ever touched. There, on the forest floor, despite every instinct he's ever had, he'd slowly give in, trying to hide his squeamish cries as I begin to rut against his clothes. Unsheathed and heavy, I want my cock to drip pre all over his back, as I murmur how good he is. It's not his fault he was made to be taken, to be had.
When I rip his clothes, he shakes his head feebly, those soft tears still endlessly falling, his hands trying to pull him away from me. But I've won the hunt, and as I gently grind into his weeping cunt, I slip in without even meaning to. So wet, so needy. All protests die in his mouth, and although he tries to cover his moans, I can feel them in his throat. I want to fuck him till he can't see anymore, till his ears ring and his tongue can't taste at all. I want to push him into the ground until he can't feel his own body, my teeth the only reminder of the danger. And, like a lover, I want to tie us together with my muzzle and knot. He can't crawl away, not with my knot kissing every crevice inside him, and I don't think he wants to. Mine, I murmur, as I continue to lick him clean, kissing his tears away. Yours, he agrees, weak and shaking.
He's too far gone by the time I've started moving again to remember why he was running in the first place.
