Demigod Captive

by Lucy Auburn

  As his shaft hardens in my grip, his eyes roaming my body, fingers squeezing my ass and breasts in turn, I grow wet. Drawing him into me, I slide down on his cock and enjoy the way it hardens fully inside me. I bounce up and down on him, rocking back and forth, clenching until he's groaning and thrusting up towards me.

  This third time, it doesn't take long to get him going. I control the pace, after all, and I want to wring the last drop of cum out of him as quickly as possible, before he grows too tired and can't keep it up. So I put my all into it, dragging his hands up onto my breasts, bouncing up and down on him. I moan and clench around his molten-hot shaft. I bounce fast and draw him deep within, reaching down to play with and tug at his balls.

  It doesn't take long for him to go over the edge this time, his legs clenching, abdomen flexing. He curses as he comes, begging me to slow down, but I go fast instead. I tighten myself around him and quicken my pace with the power of my muscular thighs. Soon he's crying out as he's forced to spill himself inside me, raw life force surging to the surface of his body, cum hot deep inside me. I'm full of him, and he spills out between my thighs, messy and hard.

  "That's it," I encourage him, massaging his balls and clamping down on his shaft, which I draw deep inside me. His hands grab onto my breasts as he moans and thrashes through his climax. "Come in me, Vesuvius. I want to feel it all. Every drop. Your cum is mine."

  He pants and groans, at a loss for words. I bounce up on his shaft as it comes then draw it back down again, going fast and hard, making his orgasm keep going long after he wants it to stutter and stop. All the while I feed on his life force, drawing his power inside me, enjoying the way his eyes flutter closed with exhaustion. He makes a low, whimpering sound as his cock finishes up within me—and I keep him inside me.

  "You're so sexy," I tell him, clenching around his wet dick, drawing slowly up and down. "So powerful. Forged from the strongest stuff. With a cock to die for... I want to do nothing but fuck you. I want to come on your shaft over and over. So thick, so big." I press my nipples against him and moan, meeting his molten eyes. "You're so fucking hot."

  "Mora." My name is a prayer in his mouth; he pants, abdomen tightening, toes curling as I refuse to let his cock out of me, hands still working his balls. "I can't... it's impossible..."

  "I don't think it is." Leaning forward, I bend down to kiss him, my dark hair spilling over my elbows and brushing his skin. I reach down to press my fingers against my clit and cry out as it throbs against my touch, staring into his eyes. "I'm going to come on your cock again. Even soft inside me, it's so big... it won't fall out. It makes me want to come again and again. My pussy is so hungry for you. I bet you'll get hard again when you feel me come on your raw dick."

  He moans. I work at my clit, lightly bouncing on his shaft, careful not to let it slide out of me. The tortured sound he makes as I clamp around him, his cum slick between us, makes me pant with desire.

  As I force myself to come again, touching my raw clit, tightening his hands around my nipples, I feel it wrench its way out of him. Like a volcano's deep eruption. He can't keep himself from filling up again, even though his face twists with a painful kind of pleasure.

  I moan and cry out his name, pussy clamping around his cock in waves, and he hardens inside me one more time. Grabbing onto me, he pulls me up and thrusts inside me, moaning through it all, barely managing to fuck me he's so wrung out. Then he's grinding up and drawing me deep, pulling my legs wide, forcing himself to bottom out inside me. His eyes are so red-orange there's no sign of anything else; the rawness of his orgasm is clear.

  When he comes, it's in one short spurt, his teeth clenched. My orgasm comes to an end as the last of his cum is wrung out of him. He pants hard and fast, looking shocked and spent. I taste his life force, the last little remaining bit of it, like cooling lava turning into an island at the ocean's surface. His cum drips from me. As I draw up on him and wrench down one more time, making his cock twitch, he cries out my name.

  "Mora, Mora please." The way his eyes flutter closed makes me smirk with delight. "Fuck, Mora. No more. I can't."

  "Too bad." Sliding off his cock, I rub it on myself, then draw my cum-slick hand up to my lips and lick it clean. "That last round? That was to remind you of me later, when you're screwing lesser females. To remind you what you could have... if you'd just give up control."

  I slide off the bed, my pussy still raw with heat, thighs slick from his cum. Vesuvius pants, groaning as he forces himself to a sitting position, watching me grab his sweats and use them to wipe myself off. The bars to his cell are still crumbled; he'll have a hell of a time explaining that, though maybe his favored position as the leader of the Worshippers will make it easier. He can always claim his fire got the best of him.

  I'm surprised he didn't make the mattress burst into flames as I fucked him.

  Four orgasms. Even I'm impressed. Most male godbloods can go three times in a row, if that. But his cock got hard for me right after he came. I bet if I had more time with him, to add in a few catnaps, I could fuck him all day, a dozen times if not more.

  Too bad we won't get that chance.

  "Mora, please." His voice is pitched low. "Join with us. I can protect you. You can stand by my side. I bet you're a fierce warrior—I'd bring you into battle with me."

  "I'll think about it," I lie. I intend to stay very far away from the arena. "I'm just not a fan of attention. Death thrives in the shadows, after all."

  He sighs longingly as I pull my top back on, adjusting my full breasts within it and wincing a little as my spent, sensitive nipples brush against the fabric. "We're not done, you and me. I can feel it."

  "Maybe," I admit, despite myself. "We'll see about that, though. I have plans that don't include rotting down here."

  "If it's escape you're thinking of, don't. It's impossible. The stakes for failing are too high."

  I shrug at him as I shimmy my bottoms onto my still-warm skin, sighing a little as they press up against my raw, thoroughly fucked lower lips. "I'll take the risk. It's worth it. Freedom is kind of my thing."

  "I wish you'd rethink it." Reaching out, he clasps my hands, and his touch feels soft and kind instead of possessive and dominant. Uh-oh. "I'd make you my right-hand woman. No female would ever compare. Not a single one of them."

  It's tempting. If this weren't Godblood Prison, the Hell run by Ares, I'd think of it. Fuck—if he weren't an arena leader calling attention to himself, I'd probably actually do it. A year or two down here with him, skulking in the shadows, making plans, fucking each other over and over again. That would be something worthwhile.

  But he's a son of Hephaestus. He likes the heat of attention shining down on his beautiful face. There's too much golden glowing god in him to force him from the spotlight. If I stood beside him, Ares would see me sooner rather than later, and I can't have that. Not when I know what the consequences of the God of War's attention mean for mouthy godbloods like me. He wouldn't let me survive his wrath a second time—not now that my mother has turned away from me.

  "You almost make me want to," I tell Vesuvius, bending down to kiss his forehead. He sighs, his breath brushing against my cleavage. "Maybe if all my plans fall through I'll turn to you and join your team. But right now it's the last thing I want. Especially when I'm still free. That was our agreement after all, and I'll stick to it. You have to understand."

  Grumbling, he mutters, "I knew a woman like you was too good to be held down. I just had to try."

  "That's the spirit." Squeezing his shoulders, I flip my unruly hair over my back and raise a brow at him. "Hey, maybe next orgy. If you think you can rescind your silly rules about other men fucking me?"

  The growl he makes is unmistakable. "Not a chance."

  "Very well then." I shrug, trying not to think about all the hot sex I'm being denied. "Guess I'll just have to get myself invited to Jasper's orgies. I bet his cock does interesting things, just like his hair."

  "Hey—don't
do that!"

  But I'm already turning away and slipping out of his cell, back through the hole I made. Vesuvius starts to follow, only to wince when his dick brushes against the bars I half destroyed. He never slipped his clothes back on, and there's still enough Ares gold in the metal to affect him.

  Sighing, he glares at me as he grabs his sweats, muttering, "We're going to talk about that suggestion as I escort you back to your cell."

  Down the hallway, a voice calls, "Don't bother, hothead. I've got her." Jasper's eyes are a bright ice blue right now, and based on the way he looks at me, he knows what I've just done. "I'll escort her back to her cell, and we'll talk about my offer for her. You've got your chance—the whole cellblock heard it. Now it's my turn."

  Rolling my eyes, I brush back the shapeshifting demigod, and ignore the fiery demigod as he hops into his sweatpants and tries to contort his broad body through the hole I made.

  "Don't bother," I tell them both, turning around to flip them each the bird. "I've tasted both of you. I won't be coming back anytime soon—not as long as you're both trying to make me do what I don't want. I'm going to remain a free agent... count on it."

  Surviving alone will be hard, but it's possible. I just know it.

  Especially now that I've fed off Vesuvius enough to last me a few weeks.

  Eventually I'll peel off some of both men's teams, and convince the dumb godblood males they recruit to fuck me, too. It's not like they're discerning. Surely eventually they'll rebel against their leaders and break the rules.

  When they do, I'll drain them enough to take off these damn cuffs and manacles, and leave without looking back.

  A brief pang of guilt goes through my chest at the thought of Aleksander, but I make myself toughen up. He left me behind. It's the least he deserves in return.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Week and a Half Later

  The precious little time we have to train the misfits passes so quickly, and I know that they aren't ready. A stiff wind or a toddler with a sharp spork could take any one of them out at any moment. Though I tried my best to teach them a few fighting moves—really going no-holds-barred, once I had a sworn promise from Vesuvius that he wouldn't make me join with him—there wasn't much I could do.

  At best, they can punch each other. If they're lucky there will be other challengers in the arena that they can throw to the wolves. Literal wolves—as I've learned in the past two weeks from Portia and the misfits, apparently animals are sometimes thrown into the arena, drugged and hungry for meat. Ares has always been creative.

  Speaking of two weeks. Fighting is about the only entertainment I have, because I can't seem to make another hookup happen. Though I search for Damien in the hallways, there's no sign of him in the lead-up to the arena tournament. He must be out on fieldwork.

  Vesuvius's men are still wary of angering the fiery demigod, not that they could hold a candle to him in bed, now that I've gotten to feast on him. And while Jasper doesn't seem to have the same hold over his men, they're all too busy fighting over some random female godbloods who've stirred them full of trouble. The shapeshifting demigod tries to catch my eye more than once, and I consider playing with him again, but once I start putting effort into training I really don't have the energy.

  Besides, Vesuvius was full of life force, and I had him four times. If I play my cards right, manage to snag a weapon and get to know this place inside and out, I can sneak out with just his thread of power moving within me. It should be enough to make it possible to remove the Ares gold from my wrists and ankles; the yawning hunger no longer blackens my soul. I won't be able to use my powers, but maybe that's for the best—a quiet, sneaky escape is far less likely to get Ares's roaming eyes on me.

  My best chance to scout out more of the prison's complex will come during the tournament. I just don't know if the benefits of attending are worth the risk. So as I file out of training with Portia and the misfits, casting a longing eye over my shoulder at the post-training orgy starting up, I try to ignore Vesuvius by asking her a question I've posed a dozen times in the past week and a half.

  "Do you know yet if the God of War will be attending tomorrow's tournament?"

  "For the last fucking time, no," she snaps, sounding fully fed up with me. Her face is reddened from effort, sweat slicking the hair at the back of her neck. "Why do you think I know these things?"

  "You seem to know a lot. And you said you were going to try to speak to your father—"

  "He hasn't appeared to me." She casts daggers as Ferdinand, who appears to be subtly yet not-so-subtly trying to listen in to what we're saying. "Ask that one over there, his new favored child. I'm sure he knows something. Not that he'll tell you."

  "That's not fair." Ferdinand's voice has a mulish, whining quality to it, and it's not hard to imagine why Portia holds so much animosity towards him. "You know I can't ask Father questions like that. He keeps celestial business to himself."

  She snorts. "Oh, he spilled plenty of secrets to me. But then again I'm not a limp noodle trying desperately to stand up for myself. I'm shocked you can even walk without a spine in your body, little brother."

  As they bicker, Garnet tugs on my sleeve, and I slow my pace so she can draw me aside. Raising my brows at her, I murmur, "This won't be about the orgy again, will it? Because I told you, I can't get you an invite unless I join up with the Worshippers, and I don't want to do that."

  "Something that puzzles me deeply." She casts me a speculative look. "But no, this isn't about your refusal to join an arena team, even though doing so would be the best protection for you, and it's something most of us are desperate for. I've decided to set that particular mystery aside for the moment until I've figured you out. This is about Ares–I have some information for you."

  "Yeah? Spill it—how reliable is it, what's the source?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know." A teasing smile lifts her lips, and her bright eyes light up. "Let's just say that I've got someone new between my sheets, someone with privileges, who knows things."

  I purse my lips at her, a little shocked despite myself. "You're fucking a guard?"

  "Keep your voice down! And yes—though not one of the ones on full-time guard duty. They're all grunts and idiots. No, this is one of the guards on weekly rotation, who spends most of her time out on field work. A true blue god hunter, like the one who captured me." She sighs a little at the memory. "Such a traitor in the end, but Veronica sure was one nice night in bed. Too bad I woke up with Ares gold on my wrists and ankles."

  That's one way to captured a demigod, I suppose. Especially one seemingly as naive and horny as Garnet, two traits I've never seen so strong in one person. "What does she know? Is he coming tomorrow? Will he be in the arena?"

  "You don't need to sound so worried—he doesn't fight in the tournament. He's just there to observe, and do his thing." That's not what worries me, but I don't mention it to her. "Mostly he just gives prizes out to winners and lauds them with a drink in his hand. But to answer your question no, he won't be there. He's stirring up a new round of insurrection in Northern India. Apparently he's gotten bored with all his current wars and wants a new one. So he'll be on Earth this weekend, unless a new challenger grabs his eye, which is doubtful since all the challengers are... us, and we're not exactly interesting to watch fight unless you like watching a pig be skewered."

  Even as relief for myself fills me, I'm sympathetic for Garnet. The closer we've gotten to tomorrow's tournament, the more wound up she's become, as it's gotten increasingly clear that she and her friends won't all be surviving the day. Not unless a miracle happens, and knowing the gods as I do, they aren't apt to perform one for godbloods like the misfits.

  "It might not be that bad," I tell her, and she just raises a brow at my lack of conviction. "Fine, it's going to be bloody. But you can get out alive. You're smart and fast. It doesn't take much to survive when you have those traits on your side."

  "Your hope is noted, and very sad, give
n that you've no doubt seen more death than the rest of us combined. I hope you're ready for some more."

  "I wish there was something I could do," I comment, thinking about the orgy happening in the training room lockers, anger and frustration stoking inside me at the thought of Vesuvius screwing other women. Jasper too, who no doubt has even more life force than I managed to wring from him. "If I had more power..."

  "Don't worry. It's not your fault your only ability is to grant the last wishes of the dead." Squeezing my upper arm, which requires that she get up on her tip toes, she jokes, "Hey, maybe you'll grant my dying wish. That'd be something."

  I purse my lips, feeling guilt about my lies for the first time. It's not that I don't want to help the misfits—I desperately do. If I had more life force inside me, if I hadn't been so starved when I saved Omar and got captured, I'd be able to show Ares what the daughter of Death does in his little prison. But I just had to be a self-righteous stuck-up and starve myself.

  Then again, if I hadn't been so starved and weak when the god hunters found me, I wouldn't be here at all. I'd be blind to the plights of the prisoners here. Their lives wouldn't matter so much to me.

  Aleksander would know how to get them out of this. He'd somehow train and rally even the weakest of the misfits, make them capable of fighting together and defeating their foes. His strong voice would encourage them and draw them together in battle.

  A painful memory flits behind my eyes, and I shake it away. Even if I knew where Alek was being held—there are over a hundred solitary cells by my count—the area he's in is well-guarded. I'd never be able to infiltrate it.

  Even breaking into Vesuvius's cell on accident turned out to be more dangerous than I thought; despite his privilege, he was denied dinner two nights in a row, and now a guard stands watch outside his cell, just in case it happens again.

  I'll never be able to free Alek.