The prisoner.
Jolka had thought out and prepared her deed quite carefully.
He would not recognize her, he did not know her. But that was not the point here.
She had let her fingernails grow longer so that she could sharpen them to a point. It was important to her plan. It would also make her hands appear larger and rougher. There was no way he could recognize her as a woman. She had eaten garlic so that she smelled appropriately repulsive and washed it down with cheap beer. The clothes she wore belonged to her husband, and she also applied his strong-smelling aftershave.
She felt uncomfortable, smelled bad, and had something to do that she hated.
The night could begin. She had only this one night.
Slowly, she approached her victim. He was considerably taller than her but there were also petite men. Her size would not reveal her. For safety, she also wore boots with rather high heels.
He had heard her in his cell long ago, but said nothing. He had been silent since his trial, and no one had been able to get anything out of him yet.
The wide iron handcuffs around his wrists left him little freedom of movement. His arms were almost completely stretched out on both sides. That had to mean permanent pain. But it did not show on his face. Only the wounds on his wrists testified to his struggle against the shackles. Whether from anger or fatigue, she didn’t know.
She was not allowed to feel pity now.
Allow no feelings. Only her task.
His arms were marked by numerous scars but were beautifully shaped and undoubtedly strong. She would be careful not to place herself in the grip of his fingers.
She approached him and placed the items she had brought on the floor. She was afraid and didn’t want him to feel it. Afraid of what he might do to her, but also afraid of what she would do to him.
She stepped in front of him and reached out to touch his head. The moment her fingers touched his hair, his head shot forward with lightning speed and force. He was going to break her nose.
Nice. It was impressive for a prisoner.
If she had been a man stepping up to him and trying to take his head in her hands, he would have bin hit.
But Jolka was well prepared for his possible reactions and much too small to stand in the direct way of the blow. His head shot into the void, and the chains held him in place.
He had to smell her already. Beer, garlic, man.
That was a good thing. She stepped aside and grabbed his wrist.
With her sharp fingernails. It should feel as uncomfortable as possible. Then she lightly scratched across his arm to his shoulder. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do about it. Already, he had to suspect, that something quite nasty was going on here.
She didn’t have to pretend to run her sharp fingernails along his arm with admiration.
His arm and the play of his muscles under his slightly sweaty skin unintentionally distracted her from her task and conjured up images in her imagination that she had to banish immediately.
It didn’t feel good to scratch over his scars, but it shouldn’t feel good to him either.
Finally, she put her warm hand on his biceps and ran it under the short sleeve of his shirt. Not a muscle twitched in Rhinsoh’s face. But she could clearly sense his discomfort.
So she felt her own.
Her nails must have made her hand seem large on his shoulder, to which she had just worked her way up.
She blew her foul garlic breath in his face. Then she picked up the bottle of water she had brought from the floor and shook it gently next to his ear so he could hear what she was up to.
She opened the bottle and gently held it to his lips. He was thirsty, just had to be thirsty. But of course, he didn’t drink. She had expected that, too. It would be easier for him to just drink, but he wasn’t easy.
She stepped back again and put the bottle on the floor. Loud enough for him to hear. Then she stepped carefully in front of him again, and put her hands on either side of his head. This time, he didn’t bother trying to smash his head against her face.
He saved his strength and waited. She placed both thumbs against his blindfolded eyes and squeezed lightly.
This gesture was only to show him how helpless he was at her mercy.
She could take away his sight if she wanted to.
Then she stepped back and operated the mechanism that moved the stone plate to which he was strapped. The slab tilted back slightly, pulling him along with it. She could force him to drink, he should realize that now at the latest.
The water in the bottle was, as he already suspected, laced with a drug. Contrary, to what he surely thought, however, the drug was not supposed to make him compliant.
Quite the opposite.
It would greatly increase his adrenaline production, and make him angry and irritable.
Jolka was a good alchemist. She knew what she was doing. She tilted the plate to the horizontal position and held the bottle to his lips again. To no avail.
She would have liked to tell him to drink, then it would be easier for him, but her voice would betray her. So she kept silent.
She put her hands on his cheeks and ran the nail of her right hand down his chin line. Even under his beard, which was thick at the moment, his face was well-cut and powerful. She dared not touch his lips. She definitely did not want to make the acquaintance of his teeth.
Then she cut his cheek with her fingernail. He did not even flinch.
Jolka took the knife she had brought with her out of her pants pocket and let it snap open next to his ear.
His self-control was fabulous.
She would break it.
slow, careful cuts, she sliced the shirt from his body. As she tore it from his torso, she gasped. Her control was obviously not as good as his.
His chest was covered with scars. He must have survived terrible things. And she would do more to him.
The scars were not new and not old. Had the man endured any pain all his life?
Jolka called herself to order. She was not here to pity him.
She ran her nails from his neck over his collarbone to his shoulder and then down to his chest. Very slowly, her hand traveled down to his waistband. Under other circumstances, she would have loved what she was doing. Now she was just disgusted with herself.
That’s exactly what he needed to feel, and that was good. Her fingernails reached his nipple, and she lightly scratched it. Then she approached him and licked the spot she had just scratched.
His pectoral muscles twitched.
So there was something that could bring the stone statue to life, after all. She reached for his waistband and put her fingers inside.
He involuntarily pressed himself harder against the stone slab. He didn’t like it at all. Yes, she had hoped he would hate it. She left her hand where it was, and slowly stroked the backs of her fingers over his belly. Her nails were already erecting his pubic hair. She pulled him to herself and hold him there for several seconds. It had to be disgusting for him. She knew what he was talking about.
She had expected him not to drink. The same drug she had put in the bottle she still possessed as oil. She uncorked the small bottle and stepped toward him. She got down on one knee in front of him and apologized in her mind for what she was about to do.
He already had to hear exactly what she was doing. She licked his belly slowly with her tongue. He tasted salty, and the muscles under her tongue felt rock hard.
He winced when he felt her wet tongue on his flesh. She lingered in that position for a while, blowing hot breath onto his belly. She hoped that she had made him uncomfortable enough with that, and she rose again.
She pressed the knife to the spot she had just licked over and made a cut about 5 inches long diagonally across his belly. The pain probably bothered her more than it did him. It hurt her to hurt this man, but she had no choice. Then she rubbed some oil on the wound. The drug would get directly into his system and start working soon.
The torture.
She tilted the plate to a vertical position.
Disgusted with herself, she reached for the knife again. Slowly, she laid the blade flat against his stomach. The wound she had inflicted on him would quickly close. The oil contained not only the drug, but also healing herbs. She knew that his scars would disappear after the transformation, but still could not bring herself not to add healing herbs to the oil.
She was a healer, it was in her blood.
With her other hand, she opened his pants. They only reached his knee, so she wouldn’t have to cut them open much. For now, however, she had to leave him standing there with his pants open.
She put the knife away and ran her hands and nails down his hips. He moved, and his breathing quickened. The drug was starting to work.
She grabbed his calf with both hands and dug her nails into the calf muscle. She did not break the skin, but her intention was not difficult to guess. Then she slowly went up his hairy calf to his knee. She reached for the hem of his pants and for the knife. She cut the front of the pants leg, and pulled the knife up. She cut slowly and gripped his leg tightly with her other hand. She wanted it to feel greedy.
She hoped he hadn’t been fed much and wasn’t about to throw up on her head in disgust.
She cut to the waistband of his pants and then let the shreds hang. Then she repeated the unpleasant procedure on the other side.
She had to go slowly so the drug could do its work.
Then she stood in front of him and grabbed his hips with both hands. She firmly expected another headbutt and carefully kept out of reach. Then she bent backward and thrust her own pelvis forward. She pressed herself very briefly against his crotch, and he jerked back violently.
His breathing was fast and furious. His hands were clenched into fists. She stood in front of him, and ran her nail over his clenched knuckles.
The veins on his arms were thick and throbbing.
She grabbed at his neck as if to choke him with one hand.
He would only feel her nails, but she felt his racing pulse. It was getting to be time to move into action.
She could rape him, bring some fat disgusting guy here to fuck his ass until he bled.
She would accomplish nothing.
There was something much worse than the hate and pain.
In 20 minutes at the most, he would hate himself, and that was what could set him free. She breathed heavily against his ear. She didn’t have to pretend much. Her own breathing was quite heavy and fast by now.
Then she stood to the side of him and reached her hand to his crotch, which was now covered only by rags.
She wasn’t sure, if she could muster enough strength to do what she had to do.
But here she was. Standing in front of a bound man, grabbing at his balls.
Disgusting.
Her hand felt its way down, and her nails reached his balls. His pubic hair was thick, but she had long slender fingers.
His cock responded to her touch.
A growl escaped Rhinsoh’s throat. Adrenaline was racing in his bloodstream by now, spurring his rage.
She rubbed her hand and nails against his scrotum, slowly massaging his cock. She knew how much he must hate that his body was responding to another guy’s touch. He was getting hard, and she kept going.
She was standing in front of him again, reaching out with her sharp nails to his aroused nipples.
She pinched them and saw the anger and disgust on his face.
The guy had to be insane with hatred and shame by now.
Jolka overcame herself and sucked on his nipple. He roared so loudly that she jumped back. His whole body tensed, and he yanked on the chains.
There you go. There you go.
She would have smiled if she had hated herself less just then. She couldn’t stop now, had to keep going.
She let him rage for 3 seconds and then resolutely grabbed a waistband.
It was time.
She pulled him to her, and got on her knees between his legs. He resisted fiercely but what could he do?
Press his hard cock into her face?
That was exactly what he wanted to avoid.
With the knife, she cut his pants completely down and let them fall down. She couldn’t look at him. She was ashamed of what she was doing. But it was his last chance, his only salvation.
He didn’t stop tossing and turning, and she massaged his cock without break.
He was aroused and scared.
The thought that the guy in front of him was about to suck his cock made him furious. She reached under him with her left hand and ran her finger to his anus. At the same time she licked over his sweaty belly, as far as it was possible with his tossing back and forth.
His cock got even harder and felt like it was about to explode in her hand.
She let her tongue trail down.
She would have to do it. She would hate herself for it.
Did she give him not enough from the drug?
Did he really have to come in her mouth for it to happen?
He didn’t have to.
He was already coming. In every sense of the word.
She could just barely bend her head to the side as his cock exploded under her touch. Panicked, she let go of him and landed painfully on her ass. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see him come. She didn’t want to be here at all.
The most powerful being in this world.
Jolka crawled on her ass away from him.
The naked man chained to the wall, who was experiencing a powerful orgasm, was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
At the moment, she was only seeing the most intimate parts of his anatomy up close, but slowly she let her spellbound gaze wander over his entire form.
His black-haired thighs grew even darker, and the muscles seemed to stretch at the same time, growing longer and much more prominent, beneath his shimmering skin.
His knees became narrower, more pointed, and somehow buckled strangely. His feet seemed to grow, gaining black, hard claws that seemed to be carved out of stone.
His cock still twitched in orgasm, but his belly above it grew darker, harder.
As if the skin was flaking and covering itself with a hard layer of something new. Fur? No. It was like a layer of tar that seemed to envelop his body. His chest changed proportions. Grew, and became even more powerful and wider.
His neck, which a few minutes ago she could half embrace with one hand, now she would not be able to cover even with both palms. His chin was now clearly visible. Strong, angular, and much darker than his skin she had touched. His shoulders, his arms. All covered with a harder, darker layer.
The beautiful man’s hands, which she had scratched with her fingernails, became powerful claws.
Only one thought formed in her mind. The greed to be held by those claws.
Panic-stricken, Jolka pushed it aside. It had begun. She crawled even further away and crouched by the door. The room was not very brightly lit and she would soon have to escape. But still, she was not able to turn away from the sight. His hair, until now only shoulder length, seemed to grow and shone oily. His lips, which she would have best kissed from the first moment, twisted into a grin. Sharp long teeth now filled his mouth.
His head changed shape, and the blindfold slowly fell down. In a moment he would open his eyes and see her.
This was not allowed to happen.
Jolka darted through the door and just looked through the crack in the door. His cheekbones widened and became more pointed. Shone black, as if covered with hard scales. She was fascinated, aroused and entranced. She had to get out of here now.
IMMEDIATELY!
And then she only saw his back pressed away from the stone slab, as mighty wings behind him forced their way into this world. She would so badly wish to see them spread out when he flew. But it would not come to that.
She had done what she had come to do.
Rhinsoh had to do the rest himself.
Quickly she closed the door behind her and ran before his eyes opened and he could see her.