England, 1780
He watched her hungrily, from the shadows of the forest. For over a week, he watched this female's movements. She had come down from London, to her Manor House in the country. A fine Frenchwoman, who escaped the uprising in France, having lost her husband in the same terror.
Normally, these Englishwomen did not interest Morgaark. They were pale, vain creatures who only sought to pursue their own means. Yet this vibrant Frenchwoman was new to the this part of Yorkshire, with hair the color of a raven's wing...eyes the color of dark violets. She was a petite woman of 5'1, yet curvaceous of body. Her skin was the color of pure magnolia white. She had eyelashes that were long and black, not needing those silly cosmetics that many English Aristocratic women tended to pile on their faces. When he was close enough to see this delicate french noblewoman up close, his hunger deepened as his gaze sought out her little luscious mouth. It was soft, not too wide...the bottom lip was full and the top was smaller and curved to perfection. Morgaark remembered with a smirk, how much it was the style for Englishwomen to wear corsets so tight, it made them faint and their pallor very wane. Yet this petite Frenchwoman was anything but thin and frail. In his expert black gaze, he could easily divine what her proportions were...38D-27-40...so petite...curvaceous...luscious...and ripe for the plucking...and he intended to pluck her. Before he turned to leave, Morgaark noticed a wet spot developing on this little female's riding habit where her nipples hide beneath the human garments. Raising his nose in the air, he growled hungrily as he smelled the breast milk leaking onto her clothing. He heard her mutter something not very ladylike as she noticed the same wetness.
"Oh blast it!" Annoyance crept into Tamienne's violet gaze. She had just weaned her nephew off her breast milk today, yet the thought saddened her. Thinking of her own child she lost at birth the same time her sister delivered her son. Her sister Natasha and her had been so happy, being pregnant at the same time. Yet when her sister's son was born, Natasha was unable to produce milk, and her Tamienne's own son had been still born. A couple of months later, Tamienne's husband, Lord Somerset had perished during a riding accident. With effort, Tamienne had offered to be the wet nurse for her son. Natasha had asked if she was comfortable with such an undertaking. The two sisters had hugged each other and began to heal.
A year later, Tamienne had weaned her nephew off her breast, because her nephew had decided that milk was not enough to nourish him. Tamienne had chuckled softly at this, for her nephew was growing so big.
Waving off her sister as she and her husband had loaded up their carriage, Tamienne watched them leave for London for two weeks during the little season. As she was walking towards the Manor's entrance, the butler opened the door for her.
Bowing politely he welcomed her back, "Good evening, milady" Holding the ancient oak door open for her to pass, Tamienne smiled a greeting at him, yet felt a shiver pass through her body. Stopping for a moment, Tamienne looked towards the forest where Morgaark stood watching. For a moment, it seemed as though their gaze met each other's, yet she could not see him. Shrugging softly, she went into the manor, but not able to dismiss this shiver of apprehension up her spine.
A few hours lately, Lady Tamienne walked to her chamber, after having sent her servants to their beds for the night. Smiling softly, she noticed the roaring fire in the hearth crackling invitingly. Her maid Bess had anticipated the cold outside and her Lady's need for extra warmth. She loved the Turkish tapestries that covered the stone walls of the ancient Manor home, yet they did not keep out all the cold on evenings such as this.
Slipping out of her crimson velvet riding habit, Tamienne remained in her white camisole and stockings. Looking over at the inviting black fur rug in front of the giant hearth, she walked gracefully over to it and laid upon the thick softness. Her raven blue-black hair spread out across the matching fur rug, her magnolia white skin was in startling contrast to the dark rug. She stretched dreamily, causing her full round breasts to strain against the thin white material of the camisole. As the material pressed against her little raspberry color nipples, sweet milk leaked out gently from them, soaking the material once more. But Tamienne was beyond caring about that, being so sleepy from a long day.
Yet from the shadows, someone else watched her, his manhood growing to its full length. Standing at 6'6, Morgaark black fur blended in with the shadows of the chamber. His black eyes shone like polished onyx gems as they gleamed menacingly at this tender little human female. Reining in his dark lust for the moment, he needed to be careful not to hurt this female, for human females were delicate. His gaze narrowed lower on her body, as she spread her legs momentarily to lay on her side. Growling with primal fury, he noticed that she had no hair upon her mound of Venus. Confused momentarily, he remember how hairy his last human female had been between the juncture of her thighs. Yet, to his delight, as she parted her thighs for a moment, Morgaark noticed her tender pink insides as her petals parted.
As if sensing his presence, Tamienne's violet eyes flew open, but before she could scream, Morgaark covered her mouth with his huge hair hand. Expecting the female to faint, Morgaark howled in pain and anger as Tamienne bit his hand, causing him to bleed. Knowing he would kill her if he struck her, Morgaark controlled his temper and instead, raised his other hand.
Tamienne gasped with fear as chains appeared from no where, to hand in front of her. Noticing that at the end of the chains, were soft material for her wrists as to not break her skin. Standing quickly, Tamienne kicked Morgaark in the shin as hard as her small foot can. Hurting her own foot, she heard the beast laugh deeply. Suddenly, the straps were tied to her delicate wrists firmly, but not painfully.
