by Loki Renard
“Trelok wanted to sacrifice you to a mountain.” I need to find a way to take revenge on Trelok. Perhaps he cannot be killed, but he can certainly be hurt. Unfortunately, I do not have time for the luxury of revenge. “He may have been wrong about other things too.”
“He wasn’t wrong about Hyrrm,” Tres says, her expression wavering into doubt. “I was promised to…”
“You cannot be promised to a geographical feature,” I tell her, curtly. Her belief in spirits and all the rest of it may be charming, but it does not help us survive. She needs to develop a hunger for life, or all my efforts will be in vain.
She scowls at me even deeper. “Hyrrm is not a… jagrapherkal anything. He is the fire spirit of the mountain. He brings life and he brings death. He is…”
“It is nothing but hot rocks. And Trelok was hot air,” I dismiss her words. She needs to learn the reality of things. Her uneducated, simple world view allows her to be manipulated all the way to death. I need her to understand that she does not owe her life to anyone or anything.
Tress falls silent, her brown gaze sliding away from me. She does not like to argue with me. I frighten her. That frustrates me. I want her to be strong, not afraid of me, but it is the nature of a small human to be afraid of creatures greater than her.
“Stay here,” I repeat. “We can discuss whether or not you can marry a mountain when I get back. I need to scout this area.”
“Why can’t I come with you?”
“It may not be safe. It is almost certainly not safe. Where I go, death has a tendency to follow.”
“Not for me.”
“You’re the exception I intend to ensure stays the exception. Stay here.”
I can tell she’s thinking about disobeying me. Tres may have been taught to be submissive to inevitable death, but she rebelled against her tribe in the end. Now she is untethered from the truth she used to know, and she could be capable of anything.
“If you don’t stay here, I’m going to punish you,” I add the threat.
She looks at me, more curiosity than fear filling her eyes.
“What would you do to me?”
It’s a simple question, and one I should have had the answer to before I made the threat. What could I possibly do to her that hasn’t already been done?
“I would be very disappointed.”
“That’s not a punishment.” She is smiling. I don’t think I have seen her smile before, not this kind of smile, one which has life and mischief in it. I like that smile, though I don’t think it bodes well for either one of us.
“I would… I would…”
I am not often lost for words, but I can’t use any of my normal threats. She wouldn’t survive them, even if I were prepared to use any of them on her.
“You’re not going to do anything to me,” she smiles, even more broadly. "You saved my life for a reason. You’d do anything for me.”
She’s right. I would do anything for her. I would kill for her. Die for her. But I won’t let her disobey me just because she knows how much she is loved.
“I will spank you.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Let me show you what it means.”
Tres
He takes me by the hand and pulls me close first, then over his thighs. I am not afraid of him. I never have been. No matter how fierce and strange he looks. I was born to be thrown into a volcano. I don’t know how to be afraid of death, or of dangerous things.
I hear a staccato noise, followed by a sharp sensation across my lower cheeks. I should barely notice it, given that my body is covered in bruises from the tribe, but this is a lighter, sharper sensation which carries an entirely different intention and feeling. When they hit me, I felt my soul cower. When he swats me, I feel myself unfurl. He is not doing this hard enough to hurt me. I have been hurt enough, and we both know it.
This is an act of holding, of gentle, powerful control. I feel myself melting against him. There is no need to resist this discipline he is imposing as it falls in a steady rain across my cheeks, light taps which let me feel the strength he is choosing not to use.
We both know he could crush me if he wanted, physically and emotionally. My challenge to him was not a real attempt at disobedience. It was an act of curiosity, to see what this alien beast would do if I did not obey him.
I have triggered his dominance, but he is not offended by the question of my behavior. There is no urgency or cruelty in his response. He lets me wriggle, allows me to feel him holding me, swatting me, keeping me in the place he has made for me, the bed of his thighs where I am at once safe and under control.
“You will do as I say,” he growls softly. His voice intense, but not rough. There is no anger in him, just a firmness, determination, and a desire which makes my legs spread of their own accord. I want him to touch me where he first claimed me. I want to know that more than anything, I am his.
My life was never mine. I don't know what to do with it. But I might know what to do if I belonged to him in the way a woman can belong to a man. I don’t know if Vulcan thinks of me that way. I don’t know what he thinks at all. He gives me orders, expects me to follow them. He insists I live, shows me that I have some value as something other than a corpse.
“Vulcan…” I almost whisper his name.
“Yes?”
“What am I… to you? What kind of a thing am I? I’m not like you…”
His big finger extends against my skin and strokes my inner thigh thoughtfully.
“You’re not like me,” he agrees. “You’re a human. A soft little female, and you come from a time that should remain untouched. But I can’t keep my hands off you. You’re mine, Tres. You will always be mine. Always and forever, backwards and forwards, in and out of time. And right now, I’m going to show you how much you’re mine.”
I quiver against him, remembering the pleasure he gave me in the field, and knowing that there is now nothing stopping him from claiming me as all males claim females. I can feel the hard rod of his lust rising against my thigh, and I can feel my body responding with a slick desire.
He says he was made far away, but my flesh knows him more intimately than anything from this world. Here, inside Hyrrm, Vulcan begins to claim me with that intense dominance which made me eat and drink and live, and now brings soft moans to my lips. He pulls me from his thighs and he lays me on the ground, where ash makes a soft clinging bed.
Vulcan’s tongue traces the curves of my body, the wet surface sluicing a path through the paint slapped over my body by the tribe which rejected me. He is cleaning me and making love to me at the same time, removing the marks of the ancestors as he claims me for his own.
My thighs spread, wrap around him. This is how nature intended it to be, vulnerable female welcoming the male who proved himself to her. He is more than my hero. He is my lover. My guardian. My everything. Without him, I do not think I could draw breath. He has yet to slide inside me, but my flesh is already united with his.
He works his carnal magic on me, caressing my breasts and running his hands down to my hips to pull my sex back against the underside of his hard rod. I grind against him as he keeps licking and kissing, smearing paint, making his own mark on me.
“Mine,” he growls the word resonant in my ear, his fangs pressing lightly against my neck, not in threat, but in an act of claiming which makes excitement rush through me. I am being transformed in his embrace. I am no longer the girl who only had worth in death. I am now the woman who is being brought to full life in his arms, under his tongue. I feel desire winding up my spine, two serpents of need writhing inside me, making my hips dance with my moans. I lift myself to him again and again, the wet lower lips of my sex spreading human juices of desire over the hard ridge of his alien rod which still eludes my soft female cave.
“Yours,” I moan back. This pleasure is enchanting and life-saving. He awoke one hunger in me first, and now an even more powerful appetite has been activated. I spread
myself, opening my body, begging him with little lyrical whimpers as he rises above me, his big clawed hands wrapped dark around the paler skin of my ankles. He holds my legs up and spread, and I am left to lie there, looking up the length of his conquering body, seeing all the parts of him which should terrify me, but which only make my inner walls clench with intense desire.
“MINE,” he repeats, pulling his powerful hips back to allow the head of his rough cock to slide down into the intimate position, the flared head of it pressing against the tender unclaimed opening.
This is true sacrifice. The last vestige of my maidenly virtue is taken from me as he pulls me onto his cock, my outer lips spreading for him, my body giving way to the conquering rod. There is one last sharp vestige of resistance in the form of the little piece of skin which was supposed to go to Hyrrm. But it is Vulcan who claims it, pausing and then pulling harder, making me take his flesh deeper… deeper until my hymen tears, my final sacrifice made as I am plunged onto his thick rod in one swift stroke.
I let out a shriek of pleasure mixed with a note of pain. There is nothing in this world which comes easy, much less the taking of this massive beast who now reaches down and pulls me up against him in a lustful embrace, my breasts pressed against his chest, my leaking sex wrapped around his rod so tightly I do not know how I will ever be free of it.
He begins to move me. Up and down, slowly at first, just a little fraction of a movement. I feel him moving inside me, our mutual juices lubricating the almost impossible fit of our sexes. I am whimpering with every little thrust, but he kisses the whimpers away, hides them with the possession of his mouth and keeps urging me up and down, claws pressed lightly against my bottom to make me rise when he wants me to, and fall when he allows me to.
He has taken me, but now he is making me take myself. Here, in the mountains where I was supposed to draw my last breath, I cry with my first coupling. I grind against him, a little bud of nerves pressing against the lower ridges of his belly, sending bolts of excitement all the way through my conquered flesh.
I am his. All his. I no longer feel as though I am Tres. I am female, being taken by male. I am the vessel of Vulcan’s pleasure. He grunts and growls and bumps me gently up and down on his rod and I know that there is so much more he could be doing to me, but he senses my delicacy and he does not want to hurt me.
Soon, though, the possibility of pain melts in the heat of my need. I want more. I am greedy. My hips thrust of their own accord. I need him. I want him. I am him. He is me. I have never felt anything as perfect as this joining, and I never want to feel anything else besides it.
Vulcan
She is writhing against me, her body grinding and squirming. There is desperation in every sound she makes, as if her body has only just truly come alive and discovered what it was made to do. She makes the cutest little moans along with her motions. They are not yet the practiced movements of a woman who knows how to feel pleasure. Instead, they are the experimental little jerks and wriggles of a virgin finding her way around a cock for the first time.
I hold her and let her experiment, though every movement she makes ignites the desire to plunge rough and deep inside her and not stop for hours. But I have to be careful. I would rather rip my own blades and horns off than hurt her in any way.
My grunts and growls of restraint mingle with her soft cries as she finds her rhythm, the melody of our love picking up tempo as she starts to throw herself forward and back like a possessed thing. I draw her tight nipples between my lips and tease them as she bounces herself over the ridges of my maleness, and I marvel at what can be brought back from the brink of death.
She is mine in every way. Our joining feels inevitable, as if it was always meant to happen. When I feel her hungry sex clench mine with human greed, I cannot help but respond with jolts of my hips. When I release inside her, it will not be the potent seed of the human male which floods her. It will be the bonding fluid which will change us both.
I hold back from the brink. She is mine, but she belongs to this world. Her pleasure is mine too, but dare I spend myself inside her? I hold back, taking great effort not to allow myself to flood her as I want to do. Instinct has its place, but I must be rational. She is mine, but not all things owned can be kept, and our future is yet uncertain.
Tres knows none of this. Her eyes are glazed, her mouth hanging open, her chest rising and falling, pink with the flush of her arousal. She is losing herself on me and finding a new femininity, her hips grinding with an arching, circular motion which already begins to feel more practiced as she works her wet little hole over my rough rod.
I pull her down. Hard. I make her take the full length of me, and I grind that little nub at the apex of her thighs against the hard plate of my pubic bone, massaging her back and forth in short little motions, growling deep inside me to create a vibration which will travel up through the wet core of her.
Tres
I scream as I feel every part of me start to quiver, my lower lips vibrating with his sound, a deep resonance which threatens to tip me over the edge of sanity into endless madness. I am gripping his massive arms with my soft fingers, my legs spread obscenely wide, my head thrown back with gasping wails as a wall of pleasure falls around me.
I can hear the resonance of a drum beat, my heart thundering with the purring which is traveling through the sensitive, ravaged parts of my sex, leaving me shuddering weakly against his cock as he lays me slowly back down on the floor of the cave. We are still joined, his hard ridge inside me when I look down and see the fiery curls of my sex highlighted against the dark silver of that most intimate part of him.
Slowly, he unsheathes himself from me, drawing himself out one fraction at a time. I whimper, feeling my flesh cling to him, reluctant to let the invader retreat. I grip and clench, but it is not enough, soon the hard heat slips free of my body and I am left lying in the wake of relentless orgasm, feeling weak and yet strong. I am loved. I never thought I would be loved. I didn’t even know it was possible for me to be loved by anyone.
“I will be back soon,” he says, leaning over me to press a kiss to my lips, and my cheeks, and my forehead, a dozen little promises of affection.
“Please,” I whimper. “Don't leave me.”
“I will always come back to you, Tres. Always.” He makes the promise with a quiet intensity.
“Stay,” he reminds me one last time, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I feel the brief brush of his fangs against my skin, and then he is gone.
Chapter Four
Vulcan
My lust throbs inside me, an unleashed beast threatening to make me mad. I wanted to spend myself inside her, join fully with her, but sense stopped me. I am already making promises I do not know if I can keep, but I feel it is important to make them, and worry about keeping them later. Tres needs to know that she’s mine. I cannot have my human thinking that I intend to let someone else have her. I want her to feel me inside her at all times. I want her to feel my protection. My love.
I didn’t know it was possible for me to love a squishy little woman like Tres. I thought my affections would be reserved for a twelve foot tall matriarch capable of eviscerating her rivals with a single slash of her wickedly clawed talons. Tres couldn’t eviscerate anything. Even now, I worry for her safety. She is vulnerable to animals and other humans, and if either one of them find her in that hole in the mountain it is possible that I will come back to nothing but blood and bones.
This side of the mountain is unknown territory. I want to know what this other tribe is like. It is important to know the lay of the land. To know my enemies and potential allies. Krave may send rescue, or he may not. I may have to make a life on this land, and if I do, I do not intend to hide in caves forever. I will form a village of the strongest hunters and live a good life, with Tres by my side. Krave wouldn’t like that, but it won’t matter what Krave likes if I am stranded down here.
Making love to Tres gives me meaning. I can see a life unf
olding before me, a domestic, simple, human-oriented life, but a life nonetheless.
I glance back over my shoulder as I descend from the cave. I have little fear she won’t obey me. She is submissive almost to a fault, following the orders of authority as if they are seared into her soul. She wanted to feel my hand upon her, to know that I would enforce my will without becoming brutal. Now she knows. And I have learned, yet again, how much I enjoy handling her flesh, so fragile, and yet with such a great potential for pleasure.
The other tribe she spoke of, the place where her father came from, that is what draws my attention now. It is possible that she has family on this side of the mountain. Perhaps a father that might wish to claim her. Brothers, and sisters, even. She is mine, but she also belongs to this planet, and to these people. I now know what it is to be separated from those who care. I was hatched with my brood. I have not been away from them for more than a few weeks my entire life. Now I am lifetimes away, and aside from the brief conversations I have with an angry, jaded first hatched, Krave, and my much more eager broodkin, Tyank, I am isolated. I don’t want that for Tres, if I can help it.
It is not hard to find the other village. There are multiple plumes of stroke rising in the middle distance, around an encampment set on a gentle rise away from the mountain. They have fashioned a wall of stakes, and there are dozens of little huts and houses inside the wall. I am impressed. They have organized themselves.
They are clearly hunter-gatherers, with little store houses built here and there. I wonder if they’ve dried some of the food and berries, maybe kept some roots for later. That’s the beginning of the end, the ability to store food. Once they have resources to protect, they’ll have to settle. Perhaps that’s what the wall is about. Maybe domestication is already happening. The end of the wild human.
I creep closer, being careful not to expose myself to the humans who are milling about. There are women at a set of bushes, chatting and gathering. I give them a wide berth, though there may be some use in listening to them at some point. Women are the guardians and transmitters of all human information.