It was delightful to see her thrash underneath him. Pretty little wildling infected with vengeance and lust. He liked abusing her heart like this. He held her by her throat and looked at her smeared face. How beautiful she was, stained in his lust when she'd not had the opportunity to have her own. He sat beside her instead, on his knees, fingers still clutching her pulse as his other hand pushed at her stomach and lower, fingertips playing in her red mat of hair to keep most of her torso still with his palm. It was very apparent she had very little control of even her own bodily position.<br/><br/>"You're so temperamental, Varga." he said as he turned his head from side to side to take in his angry pet. "What is it that you want?" he asked and let his fingers move lower, to again part her folds and slide a finger in to her well visited tunnel. He didn't suspect she would protest by closing her legs. He thrashed her around a little to mock her gusto, and then wrinkled his face with some well preformed anger before the hand that was offering little comfort instead slid out of her and balled.<br/><br/>He sunk the fist hard into her stomach, a shallow but heavy punch, to see if it'd undo her spirit. It was a cruel game to play with his new favorite weapon. But he needed to brandish her in the fire of trials, and hammer the compliance into her before he could teach her deadly tricks. She'd not just be some substitute for the women the Cindermen had taken from their villages for relief, even though she was good at that, too.<br/><br/>He petted her hair, if she knew to make a more compliant face, he would then tend to her inflamed lips and go deeper between them with his fingers. She was comforting to look at, at least, the freckles on her face connected by his cooling lust, and her eyes trying to shine through that cover. He needed her exhausted if he was going to be able to sleep safely, tonight.