Jun 27th, 2015
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  1. Grimy rays of radiation-filtered light scorch the earth and roast the scarce strips of cloud which dare impede it. Glaring right back at the wasteland from behind pristine tinted sunnies, the wind catches at the tips of your long duster, sending it flapping in the hot, blasted wind, the only sound bar a rare metallic jingle, and the crunch of baked dust.
  3. The sun rests high in the sky, but your desert coloured duster helps you to blend in for the most part none the less, part thanks to your form twisting and bending in the radiating waves, part no one willing to risk the glare of the ground to spot you out. Like this, you stalk the rogue group of fiends you'd been contracted to kill not too long ago, a necessary evil if you're to earn a living with what is practically your only skillset, without having to turn your gun on fellow bounty hunters once you’ve had a bounty placed on you.
  5. Utterly unaware of your own stalker, you advance on them as they come to rest in an abandoned gas station, long since run dry, half the roof missing the windows shattered. They’d set off at a brisk pace early in the morning, likely having been tipped off at your approach, their old hangout compromised. It was a more active and longwinded chase than you’re used to, if nothing else, they were a strong pack of long distance runners.
  7. A large jagged rock juts up from the ground, and you crouch low as you come up to it, bringing your DKS-501 to shoulder and looking through the scope. Five targets. You were told about six, so either one was out of sight, or they killed the guy, which was a pain. It meant less pay.
  9. Three within, two lookouts. The sun is low in the west, casting length stretches of shade across the ground, the rightmost façade glints with light reflected in the evening glow, the shattered windows a good vantage point to return fire. You rest the barrel on the rock and breathe in, squeezing the trigger as you let a light, calm breath out. There's a flash of light hidden by the glaring sun, and a slight 'ptt' as your silencer spits out a .308 at high velocity, the echo of tearing air and impact floating back to you. Brain splatters against the radiation-blasted wall of the station, and you swivel your gun around to the next target who turns to look.
  11. The silence spits again, and the second body falls after squeezing out the beginning of a warning. You sigh, slinging the rifle back behind you as you creep closer, the three within already stirring. You pull your second gun, a custom 10mmSMG with a silencer built in, and pray that you don't have to fall back on the 9mm peashooter you hold in reserve. The first rushes out at an unsteady sprint, and looks around, eyes rolling around in his head. Something alerts him to you, and he rushes you with nothing more than a knife, screaming.
  13. There’s the gutted wreck of a car to the left short of a hundred meters from you, so you run for it, spraying shots across the maniac’s legs. They jerk as the metal slams into them, and at his crazed pace, he trips easily, the knife buying itself into his chest. He groans and twitches, not dead yet, but not a threat either. The clouds of dust kicked up by bullets sundering the earth is a much more present threat anyway, and you rush for the cover of the car, smacking into it as you slide and duck, a bullet winging the metal with an uncomfortable screech where your head just was.
  15. Metal dings against metal as the last guy continues to fire anyway. You’d done a little inspection of their equipment through the scope some days ago, and familiar with their guns, and assuming they haven’t been modified in any way, you count out the reload time. You hope they hadn’t modified the gun in any way. You spring up just as the last shot fires and slip the SMG through the window, lined up with the western face.
  17. You spit a few shots out, and one of the men cries out as you wing his arm and he ducks under the window. As quickly as you can, you sprint around to the right, towards the shaded front of the station, taking shelter behind a broken pillar which once held up the roof. You hear the clatter of metal resting on the shattered window-seal and the heavy silence that follows. You stealth your way closer, avoiding an ancient looking sheet of glass, blood and gunpowder heavy in the air.
  19. Just outside, now you hear him grunting in pain as he clutches his bleeding arm, muttering about all the things he's going to do with your corpse once he's shot you full of holes. You stand slowly, careful to not knock or bump anything, and twist in, and spray, littering the wall with holes and blood, his corpse slumping, after turning too late to return fire.
  21. You spin the other way, and sweep the room for the last hit, hoping that he weren’t a baked cadaver some leagues back. You find him, a teen boy dressed in a tattered woman’s dress, thrown on a stained mattress, moth eaten and riddles with holes, a spring or two spiking through. He’s shivering, and barely conscious, eyes glazed, looking at something which isn’t there, his fair skin littered with evident signs of abuse. You sigh heavily as you pull out your knife, and put away your gun. He turns to look at you as you approach, and gives the faintest nod.
  23. He squeezes his eyes shut as you tip his head back, and slumps as you drive the large, thick blade up under his chin, and twist in a sharp motion. The job wasn’t pretty. You pull the blade out and grab his hand. Pulling it by the pinky, you start sawing at the flesh, ‘till the digit pops free, dribbling blood. You give it a squeeze to wring as much as it out before you take out a metal canister from your pocket and hold your breath. You pop open the rotten container and drop the finger inside. Clipping it shut, you hold it out far away from you and take a step in the other direction before sucking some air. That thing reeks of death. You repeat the process, taking the left pinky of each man. The drugged up psycho is still groaning when you slit his throat and slice his finger off. By the time you’re done, the sun is even lower in the sky. There’s nowhere else in reasonable distance, and you’d rather not sleep with a bunch of corpses.
  25. You groan as you head back into the broken building and check your ammo, “’Nother night under the stars.”
  27. You reload your gun, and put it away again, rifling around the place for something to eat. You find a can of something, the label long since peeled off, and you pull out a knife, gouging a hole in it. Out wafts the strong scent of beef, and your stomach gurgles with happiness. You tip the contents into your mouth, and the goopy, familiar gravy of steak and beans meets your tastebuds, your intense hunger making you drool for even this.
  29. A heavy foot crushes the glass you avoided not too long ago, and you whirl, 9mm in your hands before you can even think. It’s the quickest to draw. A few bits of steak and gravy fly out of the can still gripped tightly within your hand. Before the figure even solidifies in your sight as anything more than a peripheral blur, you've unloaded thee shots into its giant centre mass. That alone sends a shard of fear rocketing through your spine. You aren’t ready to fuck with anything with a ‘giant centre mass’. Not this suddenly.
  31. The figure leans against the broken wall of the station, arms crossed, twice your height, lithe and voluptuous, just as wide as you are, looming, far too tall had this station still had its roof whole.
  33. The three bullets fall to the floor leaving behind little more than a weeping bruise. You begin to shake as you take in the digitigrade legs, hard with leathery scales which soften into the toned, muscled thighs of a woman. The long, thick tail between her legs that drags behind her in the dirt, leathery and tipped with ragged looking scales that meet in the middle to make a spiky ridge, the base hidden behind her pelvis, but presumable connecting to the spine just above her round, large, pert ass. Her pussy bald and bare, glistening with beads of sweat and excitement, the clit already prominent, the cornered prey and the scent of blood only spurring it on. The sweat-slicked sun-baked, rock solid abs, going up to round, soft, perky breasts, large enough to make a brahmin girl jealous.
  35. Your eyes travel up, to the sharp, dagger-like teeth in her grinning maw, on her pretty face framed by a long mess of deep red tangled hair, that reaches down to her ass, and the playful, bright, intelligent yellow predatory eyes which nearly glow with a playful malice. Like the eyes of a cat, or perhaps an older beast, long since forgotten to time, which hunted for pleasure. No, perhaps they were just they eyes of the Deathclaw, here mocking you in your last moments.
  37. You begin to take frightened steps back as she uncrosses her arms and comes close at a terrifyingly fast pace, wide strides the length of her long, lithe legs. You've only ever killed one before.
  39. It took ten men firing their guns constantly for a solid minute and three grenades. You are so not prepared. Not prepared at all and the grim reaper glistens from her talons. "Hey to you too, is a little friendly fire how you greet people, wherever you're from?"
  41. You stumble back as she gets closer, until your ass hits one of the busted benches near the cash register. You look to the gun in your hands, and at the smirking reaper before you. Better to die by your own hand than hers. You bring the gun to your throat, and pull the trigger, but in a flash which never comes, she's on you, having leapt the instant you moved the gun.
  43. You look down, to see her finger blocking the smoking barrel. She watches you pale further as she twists the metal of the gun between her two fingers, the barrel useless. She's practically on you now. You're dead and you thank the gods of dignity you haven't shit or pissed yourself. Yet. You bring your terrified eyes up to hers, and she slides your sunnies off
  45. "Thaaats it~ None of that now. You’re a hunter, like me. You should have more pride in your life.”
  47. You swallow hard, brain whirring for a way out of this situation. The only answer that keeps coming up is run. Lotta fuckin help that is. Your eyes dart to the door and you lick your suddenly dry lips as her claws trace circles over your clothes “I’m nothing like you.”
  49. She leans closer, grinning wide, her face inches from yours, so tall you’re forced to look up at her. You weren’t a short man either. “You’re exactly like me. A hunter knows a hunter. Ah. You got something here."
  51. She leans down, her tongue slipping out, her bare breasts pressing against your chest, your own erratic, horrified heartbeat pumping twice or even thrice to the massive surge which floods her body with her own blood in an even rhythm, vibrating so strongly, it transmits through to your own chest. You notice now with some conflict it's as beautiful as it is deadly. Her full lips part, and she watches you all the while as her tongue slips out and she collects the gravy and the chunk of steak on your cheek.
  53. You're close enough to touch her nose with yours, and you wince as you hear her swallow the mouthful, before licking up the side of your face to give a soft nibble on your ear, "Taasty~"
  55. “I don’t kill for joy. And I don’t drag my kills out. I certainly don’t do whatever the fuck this is.” You lean further back, trying to buy any distance, but all it does is let her settle more weight on you, pinning you to the counter.
  57. “Oh, is that so? Why kill at all if we’re so different then?”
  59. You catch yourself on the verge of a snarl and force some calmness into your face, “It’s all I know how to do, that’s all.”
  61. “You’re right. I’m enjoying watching you squirm. I’ve been hunting you for a while now, but I’ve never seen you react so much, so close.” She giggles, a sound so innocent and girly it makes you shudder. She takes her smallest claw and catches your fringe with is, gazing at you intently, almost lovingly, hints on instability lingering behind her eyes, dancing a disjointed tune as she hooks the strands of your fringe behind your ear. “But that doesn’t mean we’re that different. After all, hunting is all I know how to do, too.” Questions burn in your mind, but you stay silent.
  63. With her so close, the smell of her sex heavy in the air, the softness of her chest and the lingering gentleness of her lips, you grow considerably more uncomfortable. You begin to blush, a submissive softness slipping into your tone, despite yourself "P-please, i-if you're going to k-kill me, just do it. Don't draw it out like this."
  65. She brings a claw to her chin, and watches you, "I guess I should kill you. You tried to kill me, didn't you?”
  67. You clench your jaw, and look away. You scoff, “Please. Had I realised what you were, I wouldn’t have even bothered.” Her claw bites into your cheek, a small trail of blood seeping from the puncture as she turns your head to face her. There’s an anger in her eyes. A reply on her lips and a flash of fury before she takes note of your startled, rabbit-like expression, and softens, her voice still stern, but gentle, just loud enough to rise above the shaking of your knees.
  69. “That realisation,” she begins slowly, clearly, “Didn’t stop you from killing my mother.” The god of dignity must have named you his champion, because your ability to not shame yourself standing is impressive considering the plummeting of your heart. You’re dead. You go to open your lips to stutter out an apology, anything, but her claw stills your lips, and she smiles beautifully. You don’t react as she takes the rifle from your back and sets it on the bench, doing the same with the SMG. She then picks you up, and sits you on the bench, so your legs can’t fail you, though she leans low with a strong arm to either side of you, resting on the bench, her curving horns acting like blinders, their jagged savagery directing your gaze to the soft, pretty face. “Don’t worry. You did the world and I a favour. I’m not mad. Well, I was, but not anymore.”
  71. “Why me? There we-”
  73. “Others? I’ve already hunted them down. You’re last. The hardest to track too. It’s like you knew when to move.” Explains all those times you woke up sweating in the middle of the night. “You boys weren’t wrong in killing the bitch, but she was my prey, and at the end of the day, she was still my mother. That kind of thing hurts, you know.”
  75. You sigh, and hop off the counter, wanting to stand on your own two feet as death comes. “No. I get it. What goes around comes around, right? Karma. I just didn’t think it’d come for me so soon.” You squeeze your eyes shut tight and bare your throat to her. “Do it.”
  77. There’s a long moment of silence, before you feel her hot breath on your throat. Any moment now. There’s a soft giggle, and then the wetness of her tongue as it runs up your throat and up the side of your jaw, before she nibbles at your earlobe, almost purring. Her leg slips between yours, and she rubs her softness on your hardness, and laughs as you gasp. You slip, and fall to the ground, and she follows with you, laughing playfully all the while.
  79. Her talons come to either side of your head, horns curving low enough so that the tip would poke your cheek were you to turn your head aside. You're forced to look into her grinning eyes. "I’m not going to kill you. You took something from me, so it’s only fair that you give something in return, right?"
  81. You groan and squirm as your pants grow tighter, “Something in return?”
  83. “As I said, you were the hardest to track. To chase. To hunt. And you were the last. The longer it took, the more interested I grew. The less I wanted to kill you, the happier I was to wait, and watch. And now…” Her horns scrape along the concrete as she lowers her head to sniff and lick at your face, “I can feel it. You were meant to be mine. And I will show you why I was meant to be yours.”
  85. Wheels in your head turn as the spectre of death passes and you grow more comfortable with the woman pinning you to the floor. She grins wider as she sees your expression change and she reaches back to free your hardening shaft, slick with your precum. You catch her claw just as it reaches your pants. “Uh, let me. I like this pair. Don’t want it torn.”
  87. She raises an eyebrow and laughs, sitting back. Straddling your hips between her large, soft, thick thighs, “My, look how eager you are. Been a while huh?"
  89. "N-no..."
  91. "Don't lie to me. I've been stalking you for months. You've kept yourself nice and pure for me."
  93. "M-months?"
  95. “Months. You had no idea I was even there, huh? I can teach you to stalk like me, if you like... but only if you do a few...things for me."
  97. Pants undone now, she slides them down your legs and she takes your shaft in hand. You wince, expecting pain, but her actual hand is quite soft and warm, and pleasant to the touch. You relax under her, and your hips thrust slightly, involuntarily, enough so that she puts a restraining claw on your waist. Gentle, yet effortlessly pinning you to the floor with her absurd strength. “Hey. What do I call you?”
  99. “I don’t… recall.”
  101. “Your own name?”
  103. She shakes her head a little sadly, “Mother chased me away when I was young, killed my sisters and father when I was young. No one to call me a name. Ah!” She grins, “I have a great idea. You name me, husband. For someone to name me, I want no other.”
  105. “H-husband?”
  107. She cocks her head to the side, “You don’t want to be called that? Too bad.”
  109. “I have no say in the matter?”
  111. “Nope.”
  113. You sigh. Well, it’s better than death. “Uh…” Female. Female. The first you think of is the love-hate villain Femme-Ra from that comic you used to love reading as a kid. When you could scavenge new volumes that is. Something shorter. Cuter… “Fera.”
  115. She grins, her large, long, thick tail swaying from side to side happily, “Fera. I like it. What does it mean?” Crap. You can’t tell her it came from a comic book. Then the meaning of the word hits you as you’re reminded of that strange dictionary for another language you found years ago. Latin, or something. The word had roots in ‘iron’ and ‘beast’. You tell her as much.
  117. “Mmmm, it’s a beautiful name.” She shifts so that the rolling heat of her womanhood is just above your shaft, throbbing and bouncing through the cooling air now, the sensation of her soft hand gone.
  119. “You aren’t going to ask me for mine?”
  121. She shrugs as she lowers herself, the head of your cock parting her lips, perched right before penetration. “Husband is the most important name you could have. ‘Daddy’ coming after it, I suppose. What’s with that look? Is it really so important?”
  123. “I kinda think my identity is important, yeah.”
  125. She grins, wide and feral, placing a claw to the tip of your chin, “Snappy for someone fearing for their life moments ago, aren’t you?” You avert your eyes and she chuckles, drawing her claw around to cradle your head with her hand. She pulls you into a kiss, and moans into your mouth as she sinks down. There’s a moment of resistance as you spear her virgin depths before she adjusts to your width, and you plunge through her hymen, her accommodating pussy taking you to the hilt, her sweltering depths, tight, warm and wet and oh so pleasurable. “But to me, husband is the most important. Nothing you could do or be would mean more to me than you being my husband.”
  127. You moan as she starts rocking, and you arch your back, a hand slipping around the woman’s hips to rub at the base of her thick tail, grabbing a handful of her large, powerful ass while you’re at it. “You say that but we haven’t even known each-other for more than an hour.”
  129. “You forget I have been hunting you for months. Don’t question it, husband. Just allow me this bit of obsession.” She gets down low, almost hunkering down atop you, digging her horns into the ground locking you into her intense gaze, her claws pinning your arms behind your head, her tail coiling around your ankles and her wide hips rolling, rocking and bouncing to the rhythm in her mind. You roll your eyes, pinned utterly, completely at her mercy.
  131. “Far be it from me to question the flow of things. I guess I’m yours now.”
  133. “Yes but the difference between me and the common slaver is that I am yours too.” You gesture to your arms and legs with short jerks of your head,
  135. “Is that so?”
  137. She laughs, “Yes, it is so. Now shut up and enjoy our first union.” With nothing else left to you, you follow her words, relaxing in her grip, and looking deep into her eyes. The deeper and longer you stare into her, the wider a faint blush you hadn’t noticed before begins to spread. The look you share is intense and intimate, and you notice now that she isn’t blinking. Hasn’t done so for a while now.
  139. Her wet cunt coils around you and your body rocks with the motion of her hips. Her ass slaps down on your thighs, and the strong scent of sex floats between the two of you, the sounds of wet smacking, and stifled moans from the both of you filter out into the night and despite the plethora of distractions, you maintain your stare.
  141. Her eyes seem to swallow you, so bright and yellow. The closer you come to orgasm, the further away the rest of the universe seems to be, so focused on her eyes are you. Your perception almost shifts, her pupils changing shape, warping into hearts. The air stings your eyes and you blink and her usual slitted pupils are there but the emotion behind them remains just as strong.
  143. Her pace never falters, and she’s barely sweating, the only sign of her passing orgasms the tightening of her silken vice, her quivering folds sucking your cock in, cervix dilating and just begging you inseminate her womb. You yourself are close, and lean forward to kiss the deathclaw riding you, her lips press to yours, and her tongue slips into your mouth, wrapping around your own. You push back, and invade her mouth, feeling the sharp ever-presence of her eviscerating teeth. Careful not to cut yourself, you explore her mouth. She doesn’t even taste like the death she supposedly sows, soft wet and almost sweet.
  145. Like she feels your orgasm approaching, she releases your hands, and they fly to her wide hips. Clutching onto her, you begin to pound up into her pussy, using your arms as leverage to reach as deep as you can. You jackhammer into her, making her large breasts jiggle as they rest against your chest, and when she stretches her back to the fullest and cries out as you pound her from the bottom, her breasts slip over your shoulders and lay to either side of your head, her hard nipples poking into the cold concrete floor. You take one of your hands from her ass and bring it to her upper back, holing her close as you near the final stretch and in a rapturous moment, you bust your nut. Long, hot thick ropes of seed shoot from your throbbing shaft and you cum deep inside the most fearsome and ferocious monster in the wastes.
  147. Fera lets loose a deep satisfied rumble in her chest as your warmth seeps deep inside her, similar to a growl, but with strange vocalizations mixed in similar to an un-mutated gecko you once had as a pet, albeit richer and deeper thanks to her much larger diaphragm. She rolls onto her side, taking you with her, and holds your head close to her chest, her other arm around your lower back, and her long tail wrapping around and through your legs like a happy snake. You crane your head up to look at her, and you see those bright yellow eyes smiling back at you from behind a curtain of her long fiery hair.
  149. “Was it good?” You nod and nuzzle into her chest,
  151. “Yeah.”
  153. She laughs softly, “Good. You’ll be getting lots of it.”
  155. “Well I have no choice but to, do I?”
  157. She squeezes you tight and rubs her cheek against your head, “None at all.”
  159. You grumble, and fight back a yawn, feeling a teardrop being squeezed from your right eye. The night is silent, and you’re so enwrapped with her you forget entirely about the bodies littered around. Confident nothing would fuck with a Deathclaw in the first place, you slip into an easy sleep.
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