It said something about him that it hurt her, and that she jerked and cried out when he buried himself inside her. Iris, who had been a seed blossomed for his heart alone, who seemed to acquire any shape that pleased him, was a small and untested secret for his proportions. “Master!” she let out a little sob, tongue teasing her lips as she panted against his pace. It was as if the nymph could not find enough ways for him to punish her, giving her own body to even the smallest betrayals. A willing girl, but selfish too, that way. A crude truth in the pretty myth of her divinely painted birth. She could not be satisfied if he wanted more. Greta’s forearms were brought to cover her face, like she was ashamed of the torment and the way her hips sought it harder.<br/><br/>She would have continued, eager to please and take his pleasure as her own, but found herself strung taut before she had the chance to pursue his tipping point with any further vigor. Perhaps it had been presumptuous of her, but Iris’s body had dreamed every lewd thing when he’d freed himself for Greta’s hungry brown eyes to see. Now, the belt looped and tugging tight around her neck, she gave him the delight of the concierge flailing. Sudden panic, her fingers scrabbling at the strap, and Greta’s fiery hair was a burning tangle across the seat. Her eyes were watering, thin and gasping breaths pulling Greta’s heavy breasts, and she seemed to be trying to remove herself from him so that she might thrash free. She was held fast, though, and driven into so that her desperate breaths were interrupted by her own pathetically eroticized whimpers.<br/><br/>Iris tried to call him again, when she began to see spots swim in her vision. She could feel her skin burning against the leather seat, rough as she was handled, and the encouraging flex of her body around him. How cruel. She wanted to ask him to stop, lungs burning the way a human woman’s would, despite her differing shade of mortality. She could not find her own voice to say it though, strangled somewhere beneath the pressure of the belt on her throat and the greediness of seeking her own precipitous release. His blood was singing the most beautiful things as it beat in her ears, and it was a seduction from which Iris could never fathom escape. Her body tensed, as if she might finally give way to the heady pleasure of his claiming, but she slipped from consciousness before she could give him her climax.<br/><br/>She might as well have been a doll then, a fine and telling caricature of Greta the concierge, unable to gasp or cry at his spill. Iris was still on the seat, eyes closed and limbs askew, with a constellation of violet bruises seeping up beneath the lines the knotted straps laid across her. A bud on her mangled antler unfolded. A white blossom with pink-dusted petals. The unfurling velvet flower was the only suggestion that he hadn’t broken his new curio entirely. It was a rude sort of reassurance, in that it invited him to test limits much further than the taste she’d so eagerly offered up. Nonetheless, she did not immediately wake, nor had he given her delicate throat any reprieve.<br/><br/>Her eyes would open, still Greta's dark brown, some time after she'd been taken inside and freed from the tangled safety belt. A gasp, and Greta's visage would wink away like it had been an illusion of the light. Iris would jolt upright, in a panic, until she were able to locate Kedrick, her Master. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stay awake." She would apologize, and the bruises would still draw a pretty collar around her throat, her voice hoarse and painful.