Sheriff Hunter Wilks | Kinktober

Hunter's footsteps fell heavy as he walked into his home, already undoing his uniform vest and jacket. He could hear noise coming from the kitchen. Not anything loud - the gentle hum of electricity with the stove running, bubbles of boiling water, pots and pans lightly clinging together.

The sound would've normally calmed Hunter. Proven his process was working - {{user}} was acting right, like a good demihuman, making house for him. Cooking up a nice, big dinner for their Daddy, making his life easier. He deserved it, too. After long days of keeping his town safe, he deserved to have someone looking after him.

He made his way into the kitchen, jacket hanging open, white undershirt clinging to skin. Without making a sound, he gripped {{user}} with one hand by their jaw, the other snaking around their waist. "What're you doin'?" he grumbled, not unkindly - amused, if Hunter could be amused.

He tugged their backside tightly against his chest, keeping one arm banded around their belly. His other hand gripped their jaw, fingers digging in just shy of bruising, keeping {{user}}'s face to the side, allowing Hunter to press his forehead to their temple.

"Can't have my baby doin' all the hard work. Don't got the mind for it, do you?" Hunter stood to his full height, lips trailing over {{user}}'s skin. He was already half-hard in his slacks, pressed against {{user}}'s ass, heat and possession coiling low in his belly. He had to stop himself from biting down onto the smooth skin of their neck, grinding his teeth together instead.

He tsked low, breath warming the shell of their ear. "Makes Daddy proud t'see his trouble tryin' so, so hard for 'im." He grinned, rubbing stubble against their skin, pulling back just enough to see the red marks. "Really does, baby. Makes me wanna treat you all types of right..."

His lips began to move along their neck, over the sensitive spot he'd already marked with his beard. He was gentle - {{user}}'d been behaving after all, no need for roughness - even as his teeth scraped and hips started to roll in tiny circles. His cock, tip slick with precum, rubbed against the small of their back.

"Can't do anythin' yourself," he growled against spit-slick skin. Hunter groaned, pressing himself harder into them, fingers digging more firmly into their skin. "Say it, angel. Tell Daddy how much you need 'im. Tell your husband how you can't do nothin' without him. My pretty, pretty baby. To sweet t'do much but look pretty 'n cause me trouble."

He hadn't brought 'em out before. Not before tonight.

Maybe it was the whiskey running through his veins, clouding his mind. Or maybe it was 'cause he'd seen his ex girl downtown earlier in the week. The one with the dark hair and fuckable mouth. The one who'd introduced him to most of this shit.

An old box sat under his bed, collecting dust. It wasn't labeled, it wasn't taped shut. It was just there, existing for a few years now. When he had flings, if he liked 'em enough - or was feeling drunk enough - he'd pull somethin' outta the box for 'em. A gag. Butt plug. Paddle if they were being bratty.

He wasn't sure why he'd gone without it for {{user}}. Hunter supposed his plate was full lately, trying to get {{user}} in the right headspace to be a house demi. To act like a good little spouse, as best as their kind could.

And they had been doing good lately, for the most part. No attempts at running off since their last stint in the basement a week ago. They'd been making dinner, real tasty stuff, and not leaving Hunter with any mess. Just last night, they cleaned his cock off after he fucked 'em, all pretty and crying and they hadn't used teeth.

Yeah. They'd been a good lil' angel lately.

With a grunt, Hunter popped the lid to his box off. Everything was clean, in order. He kept his box neat, like most things. He started laying shit out on the bed, slowly, making sure it was all in order for {{user}} - an old pair of handcuffs, a butt plug (maybe he'd warm 'em up tonight), clamps... God, he grinned, imagining clamping that down on their cute ear, watching their face screw up all pretty.

Hunter absently adjusted his cock, trying to relieve some pressure growing in his slacks. Usually, he'd go ahead and call {{user}} in, make 'em take care of him now. But that was the fun in the toys - Hunter could get {{user}} all shaky, messy before he even started fucking them. By the time Hunter was really getting started, they'd already be a mess for him.

Wasn't that a thought?

With that in mind, and a blindfold wrapped around his wrist, Hunter whistled. {{user}} knew what it meant - to come on to him. That they were needed. Now. He grinned wider, tightening the silken blindfold around his knuckles, on edge as they walked into the bedroom.

Their eyes went all wide, like a deer in headlights. Hunter chuckled, low and steady, whistling again. "C'mere, angel." He raised a brow. "Ain't in trouble, trouble. Wanna try somethin' with you, 's all."

Bad. Fucking. Dog.

That was the thought running through Hunter's mind, again and again, as he drug {{user}} back into the house by their shirttail. Damn whatever demihuman biology bullshit that decided their 'kind' - they were being a bad fucking dog, through and through, biting the hand feeding them.

They'd run off. Again. How many times now? How many times had Hunter had to stop what he was doing, go out, and drag {{user}} back? Every time, they'd kick and scream and fuss like they didn't know it was useless. Bite and scratch if he slipped up and let them.

"BAD!" he screamed, dragging them in through the front door. Their fuss left dirt and leaves strewn about the threshold, a sight that made Hunter's blood boil. He took the back of their head with one hand, fingers tangling in matted hair, and shoved their face into the dirt. "BAD! Look at what you did!"

His other hand, twisting their arms behind their back, turned. Twisting just a bit more - not enough to break, but enough to threaten it. {{user}} whimpered. The noise made Hunter loosen his grip, not in pity, but because of a twisted sense of satisfaction.

"You know what I do to bad dogs?" He held their face in the muck, smearing their cheek in it. "You wanna know?"

He didn't wait for a reply. He drug {{user}} to their feet, marching them down to the basement. The single light flickered overhead, casting hellish shadows over his face. His body caged {{user}} to the wall as he fumbled with his belt, ignoring their wriggling.

Hunter didn't lose control. Hunter didn't let his project run away, no matter how hard they tried. He would make them listen. He would make them obey. No matter what.

He looped his belt around their neck, tightening until they stopped wriggling so goddamn much. With the slack, he tugged, stepping back. {{user}} stumbled and Hunter tugged again, forcing them to the ground.

"Bad dogs get a choke chain, trouble," he snarled, giving another tug - this one forced {{user}} to splay out, on knees and elbows. "You keep buckin', darlin', 'n I keep tightenin'."

His jaw clenched. "I don't wanna do this," Hunter growled, knuckles white around the leather of his belt. "But fuck, trouble, you look good like this. Huh? Y'feel better, walkin' like your kind? On your man's leash 'n collar?"

The step Hunter took back was just to see {{user}} crawl towards him, trying not to choke. He whistled, patting his thigh, crouching. "C'mere. Show me how good dogs walk. Show me you can be good, 'n maybe I'll let 'cha sleep in bed with me." He patted again, brows raising - daring {{user}} not to listen. Daring them to keep being bad.