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One of many epiphanies that occurred to Hannibal since Clarice came to live with him, was that while he would never subscribe to a specific religious division, he had come to worship a certain goddess in particular. One grounded and resolute in her will and rule. Driven like the snow, the pure and persistent offerings of the winter solstice that welcomed her grand arrival. Aureating as the sun that unwaveringly carried on the cycle. Melting the frost and unveiling the earth, as well his soul, with the comforting warmth of her convalescence.
How juvenile were the common facades that conglomerated the lands, the world that was rightfully entitled to her. How disturbingly wrong. What utter swill sustained the savagery… stoning the insolent swine who believed in their pebbles of promise and purity, yet cower at the presence of pristine pearls. Eyes so deep in muddy waters, unable to imagine crystal clear waterfalls. The very thought violated him with a sensation akin to a stab in the gut. He would never carry the same menial beliefs of such putrescent, pretentious puppets.
Lie resides in belief, and none of it held a place within her grace. No, there was no belief when it came to Clarice. Only truth, and the trials that accompanied it. Balanced evenly on the scales of her rhyme and reason. It was shameful her greatness was not revered by the peasants of the incapacitated, incarcerated world. Sheep without innocence shrouded in ignorance. Stupefied into believing themselves of serpentine shrewdness.
However, she ruled his world. The one she granted him. The one of their own formation, styled fashionably in every delicate niche.
The reality of her existence ripped him with vertigo, from the previous dimension that formed and homed it’s creation—as well deserted it cruelly in the dread of warring, winter nights. Leaving him no choice but to concede. To consume the apple presented by the goddess, and her command he sought to heed. From the waters of her forgiveness, the fruit and floods of her efforts, he was birthed once more... and from her breast he would feed. Crucified and modified in ways that would never recede.
She bore carvings that intrigued him with their mystery. An artistry that piqued the aesthete, endlessly tickling his penchant to decipher and revere the beauty around him. This supernal woman who embodied the energy of a lioness, even prior to her full maturity. Stalking and attracting her prey with her allure… and she chose him. Lured him. It was inevitable, he an unusual creature among the common selections of prey.
And she, illustriously irresistible. There was no repressing her permeation of his mind. He would let her have him, as he equivalenced her thirst more than she knew.
Naturally, this attracted the courageous cub. How could she not salivate at the promise of such unique enrichment? That was certainly his sentiment. The young woman who marched into the dungeon to consult the corrupted creature, the solemnness of her drive outweighing the fear. Curious, combative and craving. A fertile mind. One to be marked his, he thought, but oh, how he miscalculated the magnitude of his opponent’s mental blade. A rare occurrence, indeed. No—from the first moment, she claimed him as hers.
Oh, what a joy to simultaneously satisfy and increase her hunger. Giving her little morsels to gnaw and bleed dry every bit of nourishment. The taste for more a continuous echo in her mind. More. It was only karmic retribution, for Hannibal had since then, been adapted permanently for the taste of Clarice. The ghost of her scent on his tongue an incessant, cruel reminder of what lay out of reach, for nearly eight years. A taste that refused to damper, even with all the finest delicacies at his expense to suffocate any human thought. Any shadow of sorrow.
There was no alternative for tastes with a single source.
Clarice was a rare brew concealed in quiet elegance, glass nicked with sharp edges she frequently polished. Her notes and contents intriguing as the darkness that cultivated them. An hermetic script all her own. Only to be initiated into the realm by the Master herself.
Some would say it serendipitous, others blasphemous, that he was given the chance. The monster, a presumed pinnacle of malevolence, given a chance at rebirth through an orphic. Even prior to the awakening of her innermost power, Hannibal already felt the radiance. Contorting him to her design. Evermore upon recognizing they previously traveled the same path. Shaped the same thoughts, shed the same tears. Shared the same stars, shrunk the same fears.
Hannibal remained everlastingly overjoyed the lioness was enchanted by him. He was not only hers, she allowed him to call her so. She had long since caught her prey, yet instead of devouring, she wanted to play with him. He matched her energy in the uncannily prophetic manner he always had. The pathologies of two likeminded creatures ground as clinging swords in a ruthless duel.
She knew her worth now. An ethereal being, wings outstretched, eyes kaleidoscopic and knowing. A spectacularly sparkling aura that exposed all the cracks and shadows of his soul. One shielded so deeply within its carefully molded outer shell. The pupation of the previously afflicted wreckage. The pain that lay beneath; useless, vulnerable, writhing in the loss of his own lamb. Now magnified to her view of brilliance.
And the divinity hath found in him a desirable partner.
A velvet throne of tyrian purple circled by one hundred candles. Creamy flesh draped in lace and pearls. The cathedral humble yet enigmatic as the déesse, with the earthy offerings of rhododendron and sandalwood. An obsidian blade intricately displayed. Spellbound, he drew a crimson oath to the goddess Clarice. Her fairness accepted the woeful creature and all his sin. Her fiery rule cleansed and rekindled the spirit, body, and pieces of his heart he once firmly believed were shattered remains. A metamorphosis that flayed the previous skin of suffering, baring his very soul for transformation. Anew emerged the being of her cosmic creation, and for that, he irrevocably remained her loyal, attentive servant.
Hannibal found that he could spend hours on his knees worshipping Clarice. The empyrean goddess herself. Allowing him the privilege of kneeling at her altar. To luxuriate in her taste, satiating his own need in turn. Her scent was everywhere, leaving him light-headed with its intoxication. It was here, in between her thighs and smothered with the essence of her, that he felt truly blessed. It was frightening, being seen and anointed by Clarice. She made him whole. In her eyes, he was worthy.
Her fingers knit into the salt and pepper of his hair. Mellisonant murmurings filled his ears as he aptly teased her clitoris with gentle swipes of his tongue. Prayers to her flesh, effectively holding her at the brink of her rushing river. Subsequently, he apprehended Clarice to the mattress to prevent her from leaping wildly into the currents. Hannibal’s grip on her thighs was bruising. He didn’t want either of them to spoil her unleashing before their divine connection. For she always swooned, swimming with ecstasy when thoroughly, meticulously stimulated.
What a delectable sensation, Clarice downright detonating around him as he brought her to apotheosis. There is an entire lair within his memory palace reserved for the passion of Clarice. Masterfully sculpted features twisting in pleasure as she burst for him. Every individual curve, speckling of color, and blast of euphoria were an invaluable treasure to Hannibal.
Clarice Starling, his rare bird. Entrancing him in every way. She had seen him then, felt for him, unlike anyone had in a long time. The detective in-training, la petite guerrière, who came to visit him so long ago. Determination wide in her eyes, her potential had already been so evident. Despite her undermining in the world she once fought for, it was graciously so she did. Their meeting was a crucial element to the foundation of her metamorphosis. Like the moths, Clarice shed from the pupa gracefully to the rightful place at her throne.
And accept him, she did. Clarice may have her demands, but she allowed, welcomed Hannibal to indulge in ravishing her. An abundant blessing. The urgency of her need was purely exquisite, her scent and taste ripening with the growth of her desire. He grinned against her, reveling the way she pushed against his strength. Testing for any slip of give. Feeling generous, he fiercely fucked her with his tongue. She rewarded him with a chorus of succulent squeals.
Pulling his face away from her center, he made sure to peer directly into her tiger eyes as he made a show of licking the honey from his lips. Dilated pupils bore into his, and he traced the delicate skin under her knees. A noise sounded in her throat with the affect of the sight and touch. Unconsciously expressing the yearning that bordered on frustration. Hannibal knew she was more than ready for him. As he was for her, but he would not resist the urge to tease even as he relieved himself of his garbs.
“Leonessa divina, I find quite a hunger in your eyes. You appear as though you’re raring to pounce. Are you going to… eat me?”
He feigned a look of horror whilst unlatching the last button on his shirt, causing the fabric to collapse. Hannibal indulged in the certain giddiness that permeated his chest when agitating her. Like a child poking a beast with a stick.
“While I confess the idea is exhilarating, it would be wise to merely stalk your prey until you fully gather your bearings, dear. Your legs are...” Maroon danced over the milk of her calf, staking the point, “Quite shaky at the moment.”
At his words, Clarice immediately tightened her leg muscles. A slightly successful attempt at settling her tremors.
"I’m hungry now. Since you know that, you ought’a feed me.”
“Prey rarely wills himself to the maws of a predator, but you may be in luck this time, Clarice.”
“Hannibal,” she exasperatedly threw her head back against the pillows, “Just fuck me already.”
“Mmmm…” The treasure of her desires paused to savor the direct consent, humming with satisfaction of her demand.
“Patience is a virtue, need I remind you once more? All good things,” he caught one of her shins, skimming the length of the shivering limb before pressing a kiss, heated and wet against her ankle, “to those who–”
“I don’t want to wait anymore,” she slipped her leg from his grasp, kicking him playfully. Quirking an eyebrow, snarky, she quipped, “Are you having a hard time getting your pants down, or getting yourself up?”
He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, “Now that won’t do, Clarice. Is that any way of speaking to whom you desire favors of?”
She was amused with herself. Covering her face, Clarice made a sound that was like a groan of annoyance. Clearly an attempt to shield her laughter. It took every shred of her winded self-control to fix him with a glare, wishing she had extended said control to her voice, upon replying, “You’re tormenting me. Is this any way to treat the woman who wants to have sex with you?”
Amusement swirled within Hannibal, as he knew Clarice reared the wit and zeal for a good challenge. All kinds, really. Be it the hunt, games, languages, or flourishing her culinary and musical abilities. This penchant extended to the bedroom, befitting of his leonessa. She always stole his breath in her fervor and reciprocity. Conveying her coquettish frisk that increasingly revealed itself throughout their bonding. The way she battled him in the arena of stamina and libido. Oh, she absolutely blessed him.
He was elated to play with her in turn. Feasting on her. Satisfying her many times over. Testing her limits with copious amounts of stimulation. Without fail, she was perpetually left both ecstatic, and pleasured despite her natured impatience. Her breathy, endearing acknowledgement of her desire and his plot to enhance it was not only her admission of enjoyment, but a daunting invitation to ravage her more. To supply her with more nourishment, more rousement. More torment.
She swallowed a noise of excitement whilst he continued disrobing. Just enough to access her. The tension in her limbs was especially evident when he dragged his cock along her folds. Enticingly trembling while she endured Hannibal’s goading. Locked eyes held each other strongly as the impact of their connection, and for an intense interval, they remained that way.
Bracing her hips, he leaned in close to her face, enough for her to feel his breaths tickling her lips as he spoke, “Why yes, Clarice. The dance of foreplay must be enacted well before I enter the stage. What kind of man would I be…” he trailed off into a sigh, relishing the sensation of her pressed against his own excited flesh. Slick and throbbing with arousal solely for him, “… if I were to take us… without ensuring amorata mia is thoroughly primed first? It takes longer for the girl to prepare for a rendezvous with her beau… no?”
A gentle, sensual chuckle escaped Clarice at his analogies, “I’m very ready, Hannibal. I’m overdressed, even.”
“And you are all the more gorgeous for it,” Hannibal returned to his elegant stature, easily pulling the nymph with him to the edge of the bed, “Ask yourself, Clarice, is it truly torment if you enjoy it so much? Or rather, is torment what you seek?”
A delicious shiver went through Clarice at the knowing in his voice. The dangerous glint in his eyes. No clever response came to her, or rather, a response that wouldn’t reveal the truth roiling beneath the surface. Leaving his question hanging in the air with a thickness she felt in her chest. It became impossible to breathe. Only focused on the perceptive portals analyzing her, and the fervency at her core.
Hannibal listened to her racing heart for a long moment, considering the events that occurred. How to utilize them to satiate her needs, and his own.
When he settled, he softly continued, “I’m afraid I must correct your recent bout of rudeness, dear. It’s no good to spoil you in wake of being impolite.”
His voice was quiet and domineering, the bite reminiscent of one she may have used to steer information from her subjects. One a parent might use when disciplining a child. Coming from Hannibal, the insistence bloomed something restless within Clarice. Something girly, almost juvenile. Akin to being stringently guided by the grip of her guardian, after a streak of scampish antics. By the sophisticated man who preserved, perservered, pleasured her. He held her full attention.
Hannibal suddenly seemed even taller as he loomed over her, the realization further accelerating her pulse. Thudding against his palms as devoted hands massaged her breasts. Doting on the pebbled peaks that delighted the aesthete with their tenderness. Gradually grazing gooseflesh over her stomach, hips, and thighs. He took immeasurable pleasure in her body. Crackled with the beauty in her, and the baring of her soul.
It was invigorating to shepherd the man into her pasture. It made her shiver, that he came to run wild in her wide open space, claiming the land as his. Protecting the earth much as she did the creature kindling it. The sleek and ravenous wolf, her one and only precious lamb.
A poetic ending to the cycle that once haunted her.
Holding what little breath she managed in her lungs, she listened to Hannibal’s commanding rasp, a tone that left no room for disobedience, "You may not release until I permit it, Clarice. Do your best to hold yourself, as well your legs open.”
Of course, she would follow his voice anywhere. In her heart, in her head. Into the dark, for she knew his nature. His predisposition to catch her, as she would catch him. She would listen even if it hurts. And she would play in his games, for she long since sought to prove and sharpen herself against the whetstone of his challenges.
Clarice still said nothing as she hooked her arms under her knees, rendering them widely spread. Hannibal nearly smiled at the eagerness of her response, but the weight of the action left him awestruck. Something else she was proving capable of him, even after years of disuse.
The fearsome and brazen lioness lay at his will purring and shaken. Presenting herself to be taken. What a privilege.
“That’s my girl,” he said warmly, the immaculacy carefully secured in his memory palace. Hannibal brought himself to her clitoris, tracing down to her entrance to tease with gentle rubs. She couldn’t help but writhe, her wetness trickling in a steady stream. His cock glistened with the nectar, effortlessly gliding over her sensitive petals. And finally, finally, he relieved their mutually infernal desire in one smooth, slow motion.
Pleasant shivers descended his spine as he could feel Clarice shaking so deep inside. He savored the unbidden way she shrieked, oh yes, her eyes wide and bright. So enthrallingly alive. The beauty and bliss of their connection was indescribable, the great taking consuming them in cascades. Sending both their toes curling, nerves unfurling.
True to his request, she held herself accessible. Even as her legs increased their shaking with the intensity of the stimulus. Hannibal pressed once, twice, deeply inside Clarice, momentarily allowing himself the indulgence of being fully sheathed in her earth. Seeing her take him entirely in her willing, sustained position… oh, yes… gasping, he settled into moderato rhythm before he found himself too carried away.
Hannibal stroked inside of her so good. Otherworldly pleasure claimed her senses with the power of his passion. Knowledgeable fingers found her clitoris, unable to resist at the sight of the budding rose so readily exposed. Stroking with the precision and intention to bring forth her blooms. She yelped, scrambling for any mustering of control. A beautiful moon stirred within already, yet the giver did not grant her eclipse.
He knows what he’s doing. Prolonging the raw pleasure until the intensity tortured her. It was almost mean, but she couldn’t deny that it felt amazing.
This was torment. Not the nagging pain from childhood memories that led to her unrest. Or the sinking disappointment at a career going nowhere. Not even her most rigorous FBI training could have prepared her for this type of torment, and perhaps that’s why it was so delicious. She couldn’t get used to it. Being worshipped so fervently. It always broke her, yet it set her free…
Clarice never wanted to come down from this feeling. It was an endless challenge, the best kind. It possessed her, made her still, and oh so enraptured.
Unshed tears burned her corneas as she watched him absolutely fuck her. The pleasure and triumph were evident on his face at the sight of her unraveling. There was no holding back under Hannibal’s prowess. She cried his name once, twice, in the frenzied way she did moments before reaching her peak. That was his cue to retreat, leaving her to buck her hips furiously in search of him.
Hannibal related the sentiment, but his impatience was ephemeral as he watched an anxious, salacious Clarice. Thrown to the wolves of her unsatisfied need. Honing on her pitifully clenching cunt, and her endearingly throbbing clitoris—dare he say, cute?
“Hannibal!” her breaths were shaky as her interjection, and he caught her with a steady, seductive gaze. Their shared stare soothed the seething stabs of hunger that sliced her soul so sweetly. There was an unspoken standing between them. Tiger eyes shone with yearning, but also a quiet acceptance of their current positions. Rounded out by the familiar resolve that was so uniquely Clarice. She would not give in so easily.
That’s my girl.
They both exhaled a passionate moan when they fused together again. Balming the lacerations of their crazed, carnal craving as well infecting them further with honeyed poison. Stitching together in seamless synchronization. Never did their eyes break contact, even as irrationally immense pleasure threatened to overcome them entirely.
Admittedly, it was a difficult pursuit to deny her when her vibrant voice rang a chorus of ‘oh’s,’ her cunt quivering with insistence. Hissing, he removed his cock from her depths once more. Her lamentation ricocheted across the walls of the room. Soft strands of florally scented hair fanned out in a similar manner.
Time was an inconceivable concept, seconds bleeding into hours as they engaged in the ambrosial assault. There was no telling how long they repeated the maddening stop and start cycle, their sexes exorbitantly engorged with excitement. So sensitive, that when Hannibal retreated seemingly hundredfold, gasping, he needed to pause. To allow the ache in his loins to dull.
What a task that was proving to be, for he was unable to catch his breath at the view of his vivacious vixen.
Clarice was taken over. Now the lioness radiated purely primal energy, under the direction and discipline of the one she chose as her partner. The servant she permitted to master her. It was everything for Hannibal to see her like this. And it took everything in him to not fully bend to his primal instinct, lest he deter the delicious vision before him.
His predatory proclivity, however, luxuriated in this nearly sadistic treatment of Clarice. Incredibly more so, when she convulsed particularly erratic at his stilling once more, eyes glassy as she cried, “No…! Hannibal, please!”
“Oh? Have you finally recalled how to be polite?” It wasn’t possible to polish his voice anymore. His taunting wavered from the pull of animalistic arousal, oh so entranced by her state of torturous rapture.
Hannibal’s voice would always deeply affect her, but now it did expeditiously so, his timbre hypnotic and husky to Clarice’s ears. She simply moaned in response. She couldn’t combat his influence like this.
The nerves within Clarice released their stranglehold for a brief moment, allowing him to chase her back to the precipice. She arrived there exceedingly quick, and thanks to Hannibal’s felinesque reflexes, he swiftly retrieved the fleeing woman before she could tumble over. In her desperation, she cried, “No!” again, followed by a whine that betrayed the pleasure mingled in her frustration.
“No? How obstinate, Clarice. And here I always praised your… sagacity.”
“Fuck!” The appetizing expanse of her throat vibrated as she threw her head back and yelled, and Hannibal claimed it with a maul of teeth and lips. Sweat on his tongue reminiscent of a salty beach. How fitting as he sailed through her waters, the swirling waves beckoning for consumption. Threatening to swallow him in her embrace.
When the time should arise, he would be content, gleeful even, to drown in her abyss. To forever drift and bask in the thalassic wonders of his goddess.
Wet sounds filled the air with the rivers of Clarice’s excitement. She was so beautifully disheveled. Perspired. Bitten pink. Rosy and ripe. Hair mussed from her thrashing. Shamelessly lascivious, and begging far more than if he’d let her have it so easily. Despite the persisting pressure, Hannibal wielded the strength necessary to continue the pleasurable discipline his leonessa divina needed.
Her claws broke the skin where she displayed herself. Unable to dam her tears any longer, she pleaded, “H-Hannibal… oh fuck, please… I can’t!”
“You can, and you will,” his voice was nearly a growl, “Until you’ve been rightly refreshed. You will, Clarice.”
“Ohhh!” Hannibal swallowed her response, her exclamation of rousement at his words. There was no repressing the fierce hunger in their kiss. An ardent connection increased by way of sex and lips. Emotion consumed the conjoined pair, frighteningly so in turn. He forgave her immediately when her firm hand slipped from supporting her thigh, grasping the back of his head. As did she when sharp teeth nicked her lower lip.
There was a strange sense of peace settling at the base of his stomach as he tasted her. The urgency in him stilled, so he could direct his focus purely on Clarice. Rather than strain in containment of release. He rarely admitted to vulnerability enough to think the word, but it was relieving. The ferocious, festering flutter ceased with the comfort of her kiss. This time, he would accept the buffering of a sharp edge. If only to bring further sensuous storms upon his divine goddess.
At the parting of lips, she returned her free hand to its place under her knee, determined to fulfill the rules of his game until the very end. She was so close, so close, and had been so observant and earnest. As she always was for the brilliant teacher who excelled, refreshed her. So why wasn’t he passing her yet?
Attempting to bite back her frustration, she tried to conjure up the patience from the times Hannibal taught her to linger, to indulge without rushing. Proving to be highly difficult with the effervescent, electrical currents rushing through her. Making a mess out of her. In the feverish atmosphere, she almost missed the low, metallic whisper Hannibal questioned to her.
“Will you do good to remember your manners, Clarice?”
“Yes, yes!” Clarice cried out for him, shaking as the trees in treacherous winds. It was a battle to keep her legs spread, all the strength in her limbs nearing dissipation in her state of hysteria. Keen on clearing her point, she did not stray from his eyes once. They swallowed her whole, unblinking and glazed over with satisfaction… and adoration.
Two creatures who despised feeling vulnerable, yet here she was, allowing him to make her so. Just as she made him. La petite guerrière, but her spirit was not little by any means. The warrior ignited for him, not by ferocity, pain or even sense of duty. She was incandescent, brightly braving and bearing the pyre of their passion.
One last time, he savored the image. His goddess, his wonderful girl, lost in the need that sweltered for him. Presented at his mercy, begging for his word to unleash the volcanic energy boiling inside her. Oh, the pyromantic nature of Clarice. Leonessa divina. A winter born goddess with the flame of a thousand suns neatly kindled into her spirit. Fighting to be unleashed. He yearned for the burn. To be chastened with her inferno. No more would he withhold the woman from setting the world ablaze.
“My good girl, Clarice, come for me,” he moaned, utterly enchanted. She did not need telling twice.
Clarice was haunting and captivating in her abandon. The long-awaited apotheosis arrived within her, and she was helplessly taken over, scrying his name from the depths of her diaphragm. Hannibal pounded her slow, deep and hard through her climax, drawing it out for hers, and his, maximum enjoyment. Hypnotized, he watched and felt the scene unfold in every sense.
The visual delights of her orgasmic face. Drowning in the sweetness of her musk. So rich and delicious, his tongue effortlessly capturing the flavor. Her saccharine soundwaves of undulating bliss shook his very core with the volume. The feeling of small, strong hands flying to his shoulders. Clawing his skin into a medley of fiery colors. Marks he would bear with pride, carved and charred by the Starling goddess.
Slender, shaky legs darted around his hips, squeezing every inch of Hannibal close to her. In more ways than one. Oh, how visceral was the sensation of her vessel. Vibrating with vigor, vehement as a vice. Rhythmically spasming around the impaling pursuit of her pleasure. More intense than usual, he rejoiced. The majestic and masochistic Clarice thoroughly enjoyed this play.
Knowing he was the one who brought her these torrid tears, tremendous tremors and titillating trances, instilled a sense of fulfillment within Hannibal. Confelicity. Vicariously experiencing her bliss, yet not coveting it. Pondering it. Protecting, even. Taking his time to properly savor and play with her was, in its own right, a higher satisfactory medium than—aside from verbally—being quick to the punch. Clarice’s pleasure was immensely pleasing and exciting to all his senses, and he found he was never satisfied leaving her climaxed only once.
Before continuing the descent inside her cavern, he planted a kiss on her cheek and asked, teasing, “Was it worth the wait, Clarice? Or rather, the torment?”
Panting and flushed, Clarice fixed him with a deciding look, a touch of mischief in her eyes. After a beat, she murmured with a sinfully sultry sparkle, soft as silk, “I haven’t quite had my fill yet.”
There was no stifling the shiver that licked Hannibal’s spine. She was le crème de la crème. There was never any genuine offense taken to her previous comment, but it was… breathtaking, that she was truly refreshed from the pleasurable discipline. Her energy was so relaxed, seductive, companied with the triumph that reigned after enduring a grueling task. Accomplishing a challenge. A knavish expression, almost childlike, as she gently provoked him once more.
Clarice never failed to relinquish him of all breath. The same could nearly be said of his patience, something he considered a virtue. It was a marvel he managed to resist pounding her without mercy immediately upon her invitation. He had other plans for her.
“Well then,” his tone was husky, calculating, dangerous, “I shan’t leave you unsatisfied, cara mia.”
Not another second escaped as he swiftly took Clarice, flipping his cherished sylph on her belly. His cock returned to her as a blade did its scabbard, leaving her stunned with the different angle of intrusion. Hannibal gave her no time to breathe as he set to brutally rocking inside her. Locking her arms behind her back, wrists trapped in his grasp.
The way she screamed and squeezed him in the wake of orgasm, so wonderfully sensitive and overstimulated, was impeccable. Magnifique. To experience Clarice so bewitched and tormented by pleasure was bewildering. Even in awe and amazement of her submission, Hannibal knew it was him that was utterly conquered by the woman.
He pulled her so she was nearly standing, her toes brushing the floor. The wiry strength in his arms ensured she did not fall. He leaned close to her ear, lading the flesh with nibbles and hot kisses as he purred, “Is this what you wanted, Clarice?”
“Yes,” she could only whimper, her usually low voice now lusciously high and wanton, “Yes, please… I want… more!”
Suddenly, Hannibal released her, allowing the rapturous creature to sink her claws into the mattress as he found solace at the cheeks of her ass. Utterly callipygian she was. The fatty flesh gave under his firm caress, and a slap of his palm evoked a delightful percussive. A rippling movement as raindrops across the surface of waters. Clarice started, her body canting in the direction of his ministrations rather than away. Her back curved attractively as she sought him, her head craning enough for Clarice to spot the dazzling thrill in his maroon eyes.
“So hungry,” she heard him pant, “So needy for this.”
Her melodic moans, his brass of pleasure. The squelching of rhythmic thrusts inside her grasping heat. The percussion of their meeting hips and his assault on her ass. All of it formed an erotic orchestra that entranced Hannibal and Clarice in its passionate composition. A reckoning of their shared desire and connection. As did the fragrance of their coupling flooding the quarters. Clarice found, that even she was affected by the aromatic evidence of her body's need.
Dexterous hands began a more vicious treatment now, adorning the milky canvas with purples, pinks and reds. Hannibal reveled the way she endured for him, allowing herself to be tamed and helpless. Earning perhaps even more comeliness with the depth of her devotion. As the woman sobbed in dulcet duress, he whispered with unequivocal sincerity, “My goddess, I praise you, from whom all blessings flow.”
Clarice wept. Her clit rubbed raw against the mattress as Hannibal’s thrusts thunderously stirred her pleasure. Emotions too massive for her small form swelled fiercely within, as did waters from her eyes. I could just die right here, she thought. Adored, worshipped, euphoric, so well-fucked and deliriously happy, lovingly ravaged by her beloved Hannibal Lecter.
The perceptive man caught her arms once more, extending her wings, letting his Starling fly in the heights of bliss. The trembling of her pulsing veins tickled the pads of his fingers. His nose picked up on the salt of tears as he fucked through her second orgasm, the scent a beautiful amalgam with the tangy musk of her. Adoration and arousal manifested an eruptious concoction within Hannibal, and he no longer fought to contain his release. As if sensing the need in him—she likely did, instinctively—Clarice gasped a quiet, “Y-Yes, inside me, Hannibal,” the words spilling from her absentmindedly.
Reeling with the waves of her release, Clarice hadn’t realized she spoke until she tasted his name on her lips. An admittance of her raw, unconscious need for their connection. Oh, how could Hannibal resist such an omnipotent omen?
Once, twice, thrice, he submerged into her depths, grunting from the force of Clarice taking him over. Eyes drifting closed, he finally let her consume him. It was though she ate the burning heart from his very chest, fangs tearing the pumping flesh, seeping with admiration and shameless enjoyment at the taste. And it was a luxury to feed her, to be born again through her and return just as he came. He was inside her, becoming one as her partner, and presenting himself for her nutrition. Now forever programmed into her sacred coding. His destined destination. Oh, yesss… la matrice de Clarice.
The woman of worship reveled in his abandon. The delicacy of Hannibal Lecter becoming so unraveled, for her. Even in her current position, unable to see the view, she knew the grandeur in her mind's eye. These moments of weakness and affection were deeply cherished by Clarice. Every time, it was as if he… sacrificed himself to her. Offering the deepest recesses of his soul with every thrust, her pleasure and orgasms the foundation of his slowly building release… or the better word would be, structure.
When Hannibal experienced climax, he left creation and stimulation in his wake rather than depletion. As he held her so tight, the searing of his sacrifice, and the sticky, hot, loving structure traveled its way through Clarice. Filling her with the fuzziness of warmth and safety… love. Feelings she was starved until Hannibal came along and spoiled her in abundance. Shivering with delight, her lips spread into a gleefully impish grin when her caro breathed a trembling sigh in her ear. Hips still twitching with the aftershocks.
The tip of his cock nestled her still budding sensitivity, and her teeth found her lip where Hannibal sampled earlier. Goodness, he affected her so profoundly. Twice orgasmic with him finishing deeply inside—just how she liked it—yet the heat in her body would not settle. Hannibal had murmured something about pyromania and the flames residing in her, whilst sending her through the Egyptian cotton mattress. Sensing the heat radiating through her, she realized he was right. As per usual. He knew her staggeringly so, and that accuracy she found, was incredibly cathartic… and arousing.
Clarice glanced back at him, the corners of her eyes catching a rare glimpse of the man when he was not meticulously composed. Delicate black lashes fluttered with his eyes closed, in and exhaling unsteady breaths as he began to quietly polish to his routine calm. Undoubtedly still indulging in the scents of her hair and sex. A healthy sheen of sweat on his brow, the apples of his cheeks flushed with exertion. A glow he earned from suspending himself and Clarice in the highest peaks of pleasure. Satisfying her Appalachian roots. Slowly, she began to roll her hips, seeking to ascend him to those heavenly heights.
A little smile curled her lips unbidden at the drawing of Hannibal’s eyebrows. Clips of thoughts played in her mind, all his professions of her aptitude to surprise him. Clearly, he had not been expecting Clarice to still crave for satiation. What a stupendous slip. Of course. She was irreversibly stabbed with hunger for him. Her palate so well expanded beyond it’s original bounds.
“Mmm… insatiable Clarice.”
He encouraged her movement, caressing her hips and pulling her into his, the strength slowly returning in their bodies. Oh yes, desire had not been satisfied in Clarice. The leonessa was provoking her prey to flee yet again. For her to indulge in the hunt, catch, and eventual consumption. Hannibal’s lips formed an earnest smile as he found himself rightly in her trap once more. Pride in his chest knowing he was the one that appetized the creature.
“You’re sooo naughty, aren’t you… do you know how you look to me, fucking yourself on my cock, Clarice?”
A low moan sounded from her, almost like a question. The unremitting pulse that prowled in her presence returned upon the predatory voice that replied, “How do I look, Doctor?”
The rare reenactment of their very first conversation, now reframed in a risqué manner that sparked tingles and little crackling currents all through her body. Delicately curved hips rocked backwards with a steadily progressing rhythm, prying for her partner’s participation. Drawing him out to play. All so poetically in tune with the beginning of their union.
“You look so good. As you always have. You’re so good for me. Fly, my little Starling...”
The word may be simple, but she was good for him. Clarice nourished his soul in ways he never anticipated. The praising confession pierced her heart, a sob-like moan escaping her as a bird from its cage. How charming for l’oiseau rare to seek habitation within him. A warm, strong hand cradled her chin, easing her face further into view so he could kiss the lips that chirped so lovely. There was no hurry in their pursuit, even when he began to thrust. Only gently rocking Clarice as they journeyed this lazy, meandering stream.
The waters would remain tranquil until they reached a rushing current, the force leaving only the sole choice of action. Hannibal flipped her over once more, fixing her legs so that she was practically folded in half, feet dangling over his shoulders. With a satisfied groan, he buried himself in her damp, fertile earth. Relishing the sounds and sensations of Clarice flooded with heat. Her arousal smelled faintly of him, the scents of their secretions interwoven in a delectable fragrance.
She hooked her claws into the intricately designed covers. Anchoring herself in the midst of their not-so quiet storm. Hannibal rolled his hips back and forth, the position allowing his cock to drag exquisitely inside Clarice. Unintelligible cries and mewls sang uncontrollably from her lips, each thrust landing with surgical precision on the tender bundle of nerves hidden inside her. Her sensitivity had skyrocketed after multiple orgasms, and Hannibal intended to take full advantage of that.
A grin twitching his lips, the man was reminded of the snarky comment that ensued the intense, playful discipline of Clarice. His eyes lingered on the tasteful bounce her breasts gave with le mouvement perpétuel. Peaked and peachy nipples reaching out for him in silent desire. Then he caught those half-lidded tiger eyes, making sure to draw out each word as he spat back the quip from earlier.
"Well Clarice, I may have to confess my inefficiency to undress after all. But this can be easily remedied, hmmm? I can simply…” rolling forward with ever intensifying strength, Hannibal released a sound that crossed between a groan and a whine, at the reactions from Clarice, “Fuck you like this.”
Then, punctuated by powerful thrusts, pushing deeper with each word, “Just… as… good. Yes?”
She was not dazed for long, eyes wide as starry skies with every syllable from Hannibal’s lips. Fuck, he was going to talk her right into orgasm if he continued on this way. She echoed his affirmative, but of course, the sadistically sweet murmurings would not cease. She really did enjoy being tormented. Another truth exposed and dissected by the perceptive man. Flaying her open with his mental blade.
“Now, Clarice. Do you concede I have no problems with getting it up? I have plenty reason to think so, cara mia... I would say you ought’a know as well. You, Clarice, reap oodles of the benefits.”
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from where they connected. Enamored with the beauty of her sensitive cunt twitching and submitting to his deep, incessant thrusts. The essence of his release seeping from her in their fervor… the sight was beautifully indecent, and Hannibal felt his arousal bloom in an almost adolescent manner. The goddess Clarice, connected with him. Aroused for him. Shivering, pleasured and marked by him. Worshipping and fucking this woman was nearly too gluttonous to be justified.
Not that it tainted him any more than the sins of pupation’s past. No, the sanctification of Clarice rendered him pure in the most twisted way. Accepting the crimson carnage, approval reigned over her subject. Cleansing him in the ensuing rain of blood, the purification of his solemn oath. The divinity relieved him of woe and guilt, as he did for her. Transforming her whimpers of sorrow into moaning melodies. Dazzlingly dolly eyes squeezed shut from the force of their infernal dance.
Those eyes flying open in shock of an alien sensation.
“Hannibal… s-something’s… coming!” she managed to squeak in between intense moans. The feeling was building inside her at an alarming rate, the unmistakable warmth and urgency when she needed to urinate. She thrashed around in desperation, but Hannibal refused to stop his pleasurable assault on her. In fact, he seemed to thrust more vigorously than ever.
“Mmmm… you’re coming, Clarice,” he rasped, smirking like a villain who’s master plan was near commencement.
“Please…!” Tears spilled down her rosy cheeks, fueling Hannibal even further. He knew what she meant, even if she didn’t. And he wanted it, he wanted to see Clarice gush her juices at the height of her pleasure. Despite her nerves, he did not rush to spoil the surprise. It was always a delight to watch Clarice experience something new, and seeing her pleading and flustered was irresistibly wonderful. He would reward her endurance with more earth-shattering ecstasy.
Teary tiger eyes begged him, as did the squeeze of her soaking, excited, well-fucked cunt. Her clitoris was swollen and aching for attention, but he could feel her shaking, her orgasm impending from his tireless thrusts alone. Merciless in his intensity, he was certain the skin where his hips met hers, would adorn the palette of colors already displayed over her canvas of curves. As would her legs, from their joint efforts to position her properly.
In her haze, Clarice distantly remembered reading a passage about the occurrence of female ejaculation. Was this the explanation to the peculiar sensation? She closed her eyes tight and struggled to hold herself, but the approach of the explosive orgasm also sustained the familiar incessancy of another release. Oh, no… she would be mortified having an accident like this.
But when she looked at him, Hannibal was staring at her in a greedy, almost welcoming manner. He wanted it. He was starving. Craving to see her unfurl this way.
“Be brave, Clarice.”
The encouraging purr only spurred her on more, pleasantly tickling her eardrums as if they were her most sensitive erogenous zones. In a way they were, transferring all the teasing and tantalizing tones directly to her mindscape. Twisting her thoughts and toppling her torments. Hannibal treated her with methods that were more than tangible. Touching and tasting the raw, racing storm that always roiled beneath the surface. Threatening to take everything in its wake with treacherous waves.
Be brave, Clarice. The mantra in her mind rang true. She was brave, wielding her fear in ways that extinguished it. Since Hannibal wanted it, she would give it to him. All her fear, her flames, her flood... he was the firm ground that beckoned to be washed over. To be made fruitful and glorious with her eternal waters. There was no denying the plight for such nourishment. For the land was none other than her beloved lamb.
Finally, the goddess blessed the earth with her rains, crying out a warning with a honeyed voice from the heart, “Hannibal! Oh, oh, I’m coming!”
And come she did, granting a new and exciting form of stimulation upon her arrival. The way her whole body vibrated was unlike anything he experienced. Streams of her release spurted in rhythmic bursts, gathering at the source of her undamming. Leaving his skin sparkling where the light caught her moisture. Her eyes fully took in the sight of her lover. Panting, passionate, possessing her with pleasure… yet he remained entirely possessed himself. Clarice shuddered with delight knowing she permanently marked such an intriguing, one of a kind man… and that he marked her.
It was amazing to be held in place to experience brilliances beyond her own reckoning. As if he raised her high above the clouds, never letting her down even when she screamed. Gifting her a spectacular view that expanded her eyes and soul, one she would forever chase and cherish. That was the effect of Hannibal Lecter. He had changed her as much she changed him, and the pair flourished in their sacred evolution. The worthiest place, they found, residing in each other.
Hannibal would not feel ashamed at the immediate detonation of his release in turn. The lioness claimed the territory as hers in such a remarkable manner. The goddess blessed him with a new side of her, once again revealing her element of surprise. From the goodness he poured into her, she rained her own in return. Baptizing him with the flood of her passion.
He was born again in Clarice.
“My river runs… to thee, blue sea… thou hath welcomed me…” he panted a more fitting version of the poem as he descended from the delirious descent. Clarice was, at last, satisfied. She brought the man she adored to the peaks of pleasure, enlightening him of Appalachian apotheosis. And as the land, watering the man with the floods he deserved. Another blessing she was prided to grant him. Hannibal always called her a goddess, but she couldn’t help the warm stillness that settled in her stomach upon the realization that she, was blessed too.
With a man who killed for her, and would unconditionally worship her. A man who spewed poetry in wake of releasing inside her.
The highest perfection in the tiger eyes of Clarice.