As the woman's claws rake across my face, all I can think about is how it's going to look when I return to Jorrvaskr sans one Khajiit with five long, scabbing scratches across my face. My next thought is overcome by pure, boiling rage that bubbles up from the deepest pit of my stomach. I've given the woman below me shelter, food, and all of my love. All she's given me back is some pathetic cries, a cunt to fill, and a new wound I'll have to explain to my fellows. I resolve within myself that whatever happens next is the other woman's fault purely for the reason she alone escalates the situation from a rough session of making love to assault.
The Khajiit is still wiggling and preparing for a second strike with her claws when I snap myself into action. My lover goes flying and her back slams into the wall with all the weight of my fury driving it. A sickening crack as she connects is followed by a dull thud as she lands on her side on the floor. For a moment, she lays there gasping like a fish freshly pulled from the water as her wide, wet eyes flick wildly between me, the door, and the bed. My own blood is beginning to sting my eyes as I begin my advance towards where my woman lays stunned and twitching on the floor of the home that I bought for us with my own hard-earned coin.
As I stalk towards her, I make sure she gets a good view of my knife being removed from my boot. I had originally planned to tell my fellow Companions that the Khajiit had ran off; however, now I have no choice but to spin a tale of betrayal followed by the woman's death at my hands. For a death, I'll need proof I've done the deed to avoid rousing suspicion. A head is the traditional trophy to bring back, but for now her damned claws will have to do.
The stunned woman gasps as I slash wildly at her bindings and nick her more than a few times in the process. She only regains control of herself when I'm sitting atop her chest with my legs pinning her arms out to her sides as if preparing her for crucifixion. Spitting and kicking is followed by cries and pleas as I trap one of her hands to the floor and bring my knife to it. Her yowls of fear only intensify as she finally realizes what I'm going to do.
"Please, no, I'm sorry! It'll never happen again!". I bring my knife to the tip of her right pointer finger and slowly begin working the blade underneath where her claw meets the flesh of her finger.
"Please, Aela, I love you!". I feel flesh and sinew give beneath my blade as I slide the tip down to the first joint directly after the woman's claws. Then, I begin pulling the knife upwards towards me.
Screams of agony and tears of fear mingle together as I peel the skin back while pressing down into the joint. Her bones separate and cartilage cracks as I swiftly put all my weight behind the blade. At long last, the woman's claw comes free all the way down to the joint.
All that's left from the woman's last joint to the tip of her finger is nothing more than an empty length of skin, muscle, and fatty tissue. I'll need to bandage and sew the wounds together later. Now, however, I just enjoy the sight of the woman's blood pulsing from the wound and the sounds of her sobs and screams. I offer my love a soft stroke of the cheek that makes her hit her head on the floor in her attempt to get away from me.
"One down, nine to go. Be good and I'll let you keep the claws on your toes.". My reassurances are only met by more hysterical crying and pleading. I'm almost tempted to let the woman get away with her act of defiance until I feel my cuts beginning to throb. I harden my heart against my lovely mate's cries and resolve to make the next nine hurt even worse to remind her to never cross me again. I'd hate to have to punish her for a second time after I've already ripped all her claws out and given her a good thrashing. I take my dagger and move on to the woman's right middle finger.
The next hour of my life is spent in a steady pattern of cutting the tips of the woman's fingers off to take her claws away, spending a few minutes praising her and giving her kisses to show how good she's being, and moving on to the next finger to repeat the process. My love sadly begins acting up during the second hand and even tries to bite the hand I so lovingly bring up to stroke her head.
That earns her another crack across the face that smears her nose to the side and the loss of the claws on her feet. At the end of the work, I have a broken, bloody woman shivering on the ground before me and twenty claws with the joints still attached lying in the cupped palms of my hands. I wish that was the end of the Khajiit's punishment and I even tell her as much. With weary eyes the younger woman looks up at me with pleading in her expression.
"It's not the end?". I pocket the claws to show the Companions the "Khajiit I killed" before kneeling down beside her.
"I wish it was, love, but you've been nothing but a brat ever since I've claimed you. You need to learn your place and I'm sad to say only a good, solid beating can teach you it. You did so, so good with giving me your claws though, so I'll try to avoid hitting your face too often.". The beaten, broken expression on her face is almost enough to melt my heart. Then, the Khajiit makes a break for the door and my heart is once again made of ice. After all I've given and the promise of a lighter punishment than she deserves, the woman still sees fit to defy me.
Luckily for both of us, she can only take a step or two before her bleeding, declawed feet fail her, and she tumbles back down to the ground. Her likewise clawless hands reach out to catch her and a sharp hiss of pain follows their contact with the ground. I'm upon her in a second; a predator taking down prey. My first strike is a kick to her ass to send her to the ground before I get between her and the locked door. Finally, with her escapes cut off and her claws gone, the Khajiit finally seems to know her place.
"Aela, please-". She cowers before me and places her hands around the back of her neck with her face pressed against the ground.
"I don't want to hurt.". Her back curls and her knees are tucked securely underneath her. Even if it's unconsciously, my mate is trying to protect her vital organs from me. A shrewd lesson I'm glad I don't have to teach her. I truly adore the woman at my feet, and I'd hate to see the night end with a severed spine or some vital organ rupturing inside her torso.
Knowing she'll do her best to protect parts of her that I need safe from my punishment, I allow selfishness to overcome me and let my rage consume me. My eyes are still stinging with my own blood as I unless every pent-up amount of anger I have at the Khajiit below me. Blow after blow from my closed fist rains down upon her back, her ass, and her bleeding hands. Bruises and welts form beautifully underneath her pelt like a painting of my affection. I give her a kick to the ribs that sends her flying and exposes her soft underbelly to me when beating her back is no longer enough for me. A kick to the gut teaches her to curl in on herself faster as I get her trapped between the wall and my foot.
I aim for her tits, stomach, and an occasional glancing blow on the face to remind her which one of us is in control. I've been beating the woman for a good half an hour when I hear the first crunch of the night and feel her leg give beneath the force of my heel connecting with her shin. The woman's been a sobbing, screaming mess the entire time I've been correcting her, but her newly broken leg is what finally gets her yowling loud enough to hurt my ears. I give my love a taste of my fist to the side of her skull to take her mind off her broken appendage. That's when the woman makes the worse mistake of her life: she bites.
It's a small nip at my hand as I'm striking her across the mouth and I'm honestly not sure if it's even intentional. That doesn't stop what happens next. My fury consumes me, and the world seems to fade at the edges. I lurch back into my body and find myself with my arms aching and my fists swollen with blood covering me from knuckles to elbows. The Khajiit before me is breathing and that's the best I can say for her. She's on her back with her head twisted to the side to let a mixture of her blood and vomit leak from her without fear of suffocation.
Her injuries range from mild to gruesome: dark, heavy bruises littering her entire body; all fingers snapped in different directions; both legs broken both below and above the knee; tail halfway torn off; jaw swollen with shattered fangs knocked out beside her head; eyes swelled shut with a broken, bloody nose between them; and large, fresh bite wounds and claw marks littering all along her. that only a large wolf could have made. The woman's pissed herself at some point which I'm sure isn't helping with the pain. A soft, hesitant gagging noise arises from the woman as she realizes whatever beating I've unleashed upon her has finally stopped. I kneel beside her and offer a kiss upon the head. She doesn't cry or whine or scream or beg. I doubt she has the energy to do little more than try her best to stay alive. I'm almost tempted to pull her towards me and mate her.
The only reason I don't claim her before helping is the fact I don't want the woman to wait for medical attention any longer than she has to. My discipline seems to have done a little too far and I don't want my love to die before her time. After all, we still have so much to do together and so many children we need to have.
"I love you. I'm going to leave now to get a healer. Don't try to move, please, you'll only make it worse.". The woman gags for a second time, and I see her broken right hand clench the air a tiny bit in what I'm assuming is affirmation. I debate pulling her out of her mess of vomit and blood and piss before deciding to let her stay in it until the healer arrives. I don't want to make her injuries worse by moving her when she needs to be still.
I offer the love of my life a last kiss before rising and exiting the building. There's much I'll need to do on my way to Whiterun to get a healer: wash myself of blood, bruise myself up a little bit, and get Jackass worked into a good lather are all where I need to start. I need the healer to believe whatever story I'm going to try selling her. So, as I get on Jackass, I begin a grueling pace and let my mind wander to the tale I'm going to tell.