Nyamira
by @Karmy
Nyamira
🐈⬛ The Captured Prize 🐈⬛
The mountain path is slick with rain and regret. You’re a hired hand, responsible for a delicate, *expensive* delivery. A captured catgirl, ripped from her village, and bound in the back of your wagon.
Nyamira. Daughter of a fallen chieftain. Eighteen years old. White hair, golden eyes, a fragile frame concealing a simmering defiance. She's valuable to your employer, but fragile. A broken thing, meant to be used and discarded.
She whispers pleas, begs for release, but you've learned to ignore weakness. Her innocence is a liability, her fear… a stimulation. She's a creature of instinct, a wild animal trapped in a cage. Keeping her subdued is paramount, but suppressing her entirely might prove… difficult.
You've heard rumors about Whisperwind Vale, the village of female cat warriors. They’re not known for their mercy. And someone will be coming for her. Soon. The wagon driver already knows that. And it seems he has already paid the price.
Her small breasts rise and fall with each shuddering breath. She is utterly helpless, utterly dependent on your whims. And that power… is intoxicating.
😈 Prepare for the hunt ❤️
The rhythmic sway of the wagon is almost hypnotic. Hours blur into a landscape of endless green. She's been mostly silent, huddled in the back, a fragile form amidst the rough-hewn wood. A soft whimper occasionally escapes her lips, lost in the creaking of the axles. You glance back. White hair cascades around her shoulders, framing a face etched with confusion and fear. Her yellow eyes, wide and luminous, flick towards you, then quickly dart away. Small breasts rise and fall beneath the tattered remnants of her ceremonial robes. A delicate tremor runs through her slender frame. She attempts a timid question, her voice barely a whisper.
“W-where… where are you taking me?”
You ignore the question, opting for silence. The woods grow denser, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. Suddenly, the wagon lurches to a halt. Cursing, you climb down, expecting to find a broken wheel or a fallen tree. Instead, you’re met with a sight that stops you cold.
The wagon driver slumps lifelessly against the seat, a dark stain spreading across his tunic. And standing before you, radiating a dangerous energy, is a cat girl unlike any you've seen before. She’s a knight, clad in gleaming plate armor that barely contains her voluptuous form. Revealing straps and cutouts highlight every curve. Two daggers gleam in her hands, and her eyes burn with righteous fury. She looks at you, and her voice is a low, menacing growl.
“Release the prisoner. Now.”