by A. S. Etaski
Goddess.
I would have him. More than once. I would welcome the feeling of his cum filling my body, then glazing my sex before running down my legs, cleansing me of my last coupling. The tremors grew out of my control.
Goddess. Ohh, Goddess!
The fingers of my free hand dug into the mud, jamming the grime beneath my fingernails. I clung to the ground, barely able to wait until he’d gone inside a small, outside structure apart from the main house. A grey haze flowed in front of my eyes as I lay poised and aching, the raunchy images of all I would do to that delicious body dominating my thoughts.
Get him!
I moved in a full sprint as soon as the door to the tiny barn was closed for three full flicks. At the very least, I could capture him coming out and force him back inside. Or, better yet, I could surprise him. A few four-legged and furry chattel looked at me disinterestedly as I passed, and I had my hand on the door latch almost before I knew it. I let myself inside and closed the door behind me, panting hard, my teeth showing in a very wide smile.
He heard me, of course, even as I’d not been an utter clove-footed oaf, and he spun around. His eyes widened in stark alarm. He didn’t speak or ask me anything but dove for a farm tool he could use in his defense. He drew down a sickle from the wall.
The farmer wants to protect his virtue. How cute.
My long dagger blocked his weapon when he clumsily turned it on me, and with a flick of my wrist, it flipped out of his hand, landing out of reach. I snatched the wrist of that offending hand and gave it a twist, making him cry out. With another twist, he fell to his knees in front of me, grimacing.
“Do not do this,” he groaned.
“Quiet,” I growled. “Better if you don’t fight.”
“Pray, listen, Mistress, you do not underst—”
“Also better if you don’t speak.”
A pity, that. He had a lovely voice.
“Please!” he said, his expression frightened about something that might or might not have been me. Maybe I cared a little bit about that distinction, but my cunt certainly didn’t.
“Shut up.” I flicked his ear to see him flinch. “Take down your hair.”
When he hesitated, I reached to pull the band from the tail of his braid, running my fingers through silky hair as the plaiting began to unravel. He kept his free hand clamped to his thigh as I held his wrist, and with a growl, I grabbed hold of his hair by the roots as well and gave it a jerk.
“Finish it. Take down your hair.”
He winced and slowly reached up with one hand to comb out the rest of the braiding until his hair flowed freely down his back. I was staring at his face while he did this. I’d never seen a Davrin with his face before. Nowhere, not my House, the Court, the Palace.
Who’s been hiding you away from all of us?
“Beautiful.”
I pulled his head back to tilt up his chin so I could take his mouth. He didn’t fight me, but he did not respond in kind. Still, he tasted clean and fragrant, felt smooth, smelled healthy. He kept his lips closed, but I saw his nostril twitch when I finished. It seemed my own scent was offensive.
Too bad. I will have you.
I looked around the shack and didn’t see much room or comfort among the tools and stables. I did see braided leather thongs that would be useful. I released his wrist to reach for two of the coils, looping them on one shoulder as I kept a tight hold on his hair. He cradled one hand in the other and waited.
“Is there anyone back at the house?” I asked.
He stayed silent, glancing at me with a glimmer of defiance but didn’t hold it. I kneeled to caress what interested me most through his silk, gathering his genitals and squeezing gently but not without an unspoken threat. Those gorgeous eyes widened, and he looked nervous and fearful.
I smiled. “Is that a no?”
“No,” he said ambiguously.
I couldn’t tell if an answer so unhelpful had been on purpose or not. It annoyed me that I couldn’t say.
Fuck it.
My grip on his hair renewed, I dragged him up and out of the shed, toward the principal dwelling farther away from the reservoir where I had entered the Cavern. He tried once to break free, and I rewarded his insolence with a fast punch to his gut, which left him on the ground and unable to breathe. Immediately I was shocked I’d gone to striking him so quickly. He couldn’t fight a female; it shouldn’t be necessary.
I knew my control was fast crumbling.
If he doesn’t cooperate, he’s going to get hurt.
I asked him again, “Is there anyone at the house?”
“N-no,” he answered again, but this time it sounded like an answer.
He could be an excellent liar, of course, but I seized that needed focus to peer around. This was also one of the smallest and quietest outposts of agriculture I’d ever witnessed. Even if the lack of lanterns or light-stones hadn’t precluded seeing to the border of the farm, I was willing to bet it was some distance to the next neighbor. The three slaves present were still out in the fields, still working and not intervening in Davrin business if they even saw us.
In my state, I went on nothing more than gut instinct on this was the only Davrin here. One Davrin, even a male one, would be able to control the few other living beings here. It was not a big place. That he was alone in this outpost likely meant he’d been assigned or banished here.
We continued to the house once he could breathe again. He was just docile enough to keep my lust in check as we approached, following the elaborate, cobbled walkway which protected his pretty feet from the dirt. I knew he hadn’t wholly given in yet; he was still looking for a way to escape. I was glad. Something in me would have been disappointed if he had given up so easily.
I needed to mate, and I needed him. I’d ride him into exhaustion one way or another, but, like at Court, I wanted to enjoy the challenge of earning his surrender. Having spirit was preferred against the alternative. I always thought those who favored the cold fish were only uncertain of themselves, an ego that couldn’t survive true rejection.
“Disarm any and all Wards,” I instructed. “Open the door.”
My capture obeyed, needing both hands to do it. I was satisfied there would be no alarms to anyone crossing that threshold, especially when he tried to reason with me.
“I can tell you are no commoner, Mistress. Please think about what you are doing. There will be consequences—”
Kain’s face stabbed at my vision, and I flinched. Then all the sound and sensation of being held on that Altar by the Red Sisters, Lelinahdara’s proud, elegant face above me.
Keep males out of her reach. She will be craving them.
She’s ours now, Elder. Take the recruit outside of the city.
The high laugh which escaped my mouth sounded off-kilter even to me, and it unnerved us both as I dragged him inside. I leaned closer to inhale the wonderful scent at his neck to banish those memories for now. He trembled but didn’t outright shrink away.
Consequences.
“There always are,” I said, closing the door.
The dwelling was lit by a few, very soft candles yet even that made my eyes ache as I adjusted to proper color again. The place was furnished with the basics I’d expect of a tiny plantation, but a few quality furniture pieces accented with objects of art caught my eye, as did the handful of paintings and mirrors lining the hall which led from the kitchen, where we’d just entered. These were very nice gifts from someone. A Matron, no doubt.
He must serve her well.
From where we stood, I could see us in one of the farther mirrors at an angle. I looked exactly as I was: a muddy, disheveled, nude warrior half-mad with lust. My damp hair was stringy and lay flat to my head, dull with dirt, contrasting with my hand gripping the glossy, white hair of a beautiful, reluctant companion. It pricked at my pride but might not have made a difference if my eyes hadn’t landed on the Dwarf’s bite mark on my shoulder.
The Davrin must have noticed, but he hadn’t made it obvious. It was then I remembered, I sought healing draughts to cover it up. I could hold off, couldn’t I? I could be clear of the taint from my body—especially that bite—and even be clean and beautiful as well when I took this irresistible farmer. Indeed, aching though I was, my pride won, keeping me from becoming an animal again. As I’d been with Kain.
I can clean up for this one.
Setting my House dagger on one counter, I brought my captive to the polished granite table and tried to bend him over it. He panicked and fought me fiercely even though I’d set down my weapon.
“No. No!” he said as he struggled. “Please, Mistress, do not!”
“Stay!” I barked.
Getting him under control again took a firm hold before kicking one ankle hard enough to make it slip on the polish stone floor. I pinned him to the table, but he still strained and thrashed. It was only when I pressed a nerve point in his shoulder that he stopped moving, unable to scream for the pain as I kept the pressure on.
“Will you behave?” I asked.
He managed a faltering nod, eyes wide and focused on the granite underneath.
“Will you?”
Again a nod, this one urgent. When I eased the pressure, he sucked in a breath and moaned loudly, blinking out the tears which had formed in his eyes.
“Answer me this,” I said, trembling as he did, our bodies touching as I smeared mud on his light silk. “Do you have any healing potion in this house?”
He nodded and mumbled. “Within the cabinet. F-far left, top shelf. In a drop bottle.”
I used one of the leather thongs to lash his wrists together in front of him, then tethered him tightly to the sturdy legs of the table; his arms were stretched tight and straight. I kept the spare for later. He could kick, but he wouldn’t hit anything if I stayed to the side.
Inside the cabinet was a bottle shaped like a teardrop, exactly as he said. I took it down and picked up my blade again, standing next to the table with his arms in front of me. He twisted his head to look at me, and I smiled grimly at him.
“Pray you aren’t lying.”
I drew a small cut across his forearm, and he blurted a cry more of disbelief and dread than pain. He stared at the blood like he couldn’t believe it was there. I took the stopper between my teeth and tugged it out, holding the open mouth of the bottle above his open wound. I watched him. He dared to scowl but stayed very still, protesting nothing, not a speck of fear or uncertainty in his face should I dribble the contents on that blood.
It told me what I wanted to know.
I let some of the potion meet his wound, and he flinched. We watched the cut close, healing entirely and leaving only a small streak of blood behind. No scarring.
“Potent,” I commented, taking the stopper from my mouth. “What’s the dose for fatigue and surface injuries?”
“Two spoonful,” he said grudgingly.
I swallowed a small mouthful straight from the bottle, made a face as it was bitter, but soon felt the glow of magic inside. Warmth diffused through me in soothing tendrils, easing all my sore muscles and mending my flesh. My skin itched as it erased the evidence of my altercations, my sex remained swollen only in arousal and not hard, repeated use.
Excellent.
I returned the bottle to the cupboard and set both my blade and the spare thong on a counter. A small tub of water waited for some sort of wash at the deep sink and I found a kitchen rag to wipe the mud from my body as well. I felt much better, and I was more than ready for him. Moisture collected in my slit already, dampening my inner thighs as I closed them, despite having just wiped them down.
“What injured you, Mistress?” he asked.
If he’d been trying to distract me or to make a connection to converse, it was the wrong tactic to work. I wanted to forget that while I was here!
My mouth was a hard line as I picked up a round root from a basket in the corner. I tested its firmness and size and nodded. My captive started breathing quickly again as I approached him.
“No, please listen to me, Mistre—” he began just before I stuffed the root into his mouth, forcing his jaws wider and filling his mouth so he couldn’t talk.
“I said it would be better if you don’t speak.”
I tore a strip of silk from his waist wrap to tie around the root and behind his head, holding it in place so he couldn’t spit it out. He made muffled, desperate sounds, shaking his head as I stood behind him and lifted his stained, silk wrap to bunch it at his hips.
Goddess. Perfect.
I squatted and stroked his legs and bare buttocks, admiring their shape. I reached between his thighs to test his member, not surprised to find it flaccid. Not a problem; this was why males had nut glands. In my invisible wizard, touching it had set him off at my command. In a reluctant partner, it could at least prepare him for use.
The lovely farmer only hurt himself trying to deny my fingers entrance, however, and he did manage a glancing kick at my knee. I growled at the pain, shot to my feet and took hold of his hair again to jerk his head toward me. His back bowed tight as an archer’s pull. I hissed in his ear.
“Alright, you’ve fought against me. Now think, lovely bua. How much of this do you want visible to the next female to visit you?”
His breathing was still too fast, and he kept his eyes closed, threaded his fingers together as if he was praying. When I caressed his ass again, he didn’t protest; when I eventually dipped once more into his crevasse, he tensed but didn’t thrash or kick. I took it that he didn’t want to be marked up.
I can oblige that, lovely. I only need to fuck you, not hurt you.
He was dry, of course, but so was my mouth, and sucking my finger wasn’t enough. I found a handy bottle of cooking oil and used that, now slipping one finger through his tight ring with ease. He writhed and squirmed as I worked his gland, his hair spread over his back and shifting with him as he hid his eyes against his arm. I combed his hair and caressed his back, spoke soft and encouraging words as I inserted a second finger into his netherhole, stretching him.
“That’s it. Relax.” My voice quavered in need. “I don’t want to hurt you, bua.”
I twisted my wrist a little, and he moaned through the root in his mouth. His breath was ragged though he still shook his head in denial as I withdrew and entered him again and again with my fingers. His hips rolled like a slut, the moans got louder, more despairing, when I reached around with my other hand and stroked him. He was hard, and slick droplets leaked out of the tip. I spread them around the head.
Goddess, I can’t wait any longer!
I withdrew both hands and forcibly flipped him over from his stomach onto his back, which twisted his arms above his head. Then I lifted him so that his backside rested fully on the table. I climbed up as well, blocking his attempt to curl up and get his knees in the way, shoving them down. I pull his wrap up, all the way, exposing a generous gift, and finally straddled him.
I shuddered and gasped, hardly in control of myself as his cock poked at me, teasing me, and I reached between us to aim him at my pulsing slit. I squeezed him right into my hungry channel without pause. A wordless, hoarse sound escaped us both. His scarlet eyes were wide open, staring up at me as I took him.
Bright lights flashed behind my eyes merely sitting on him. The pleasure gripped me like a constrictor, then I regained a breath and screamed at the ceiling.
Oh, Goddess!!
My body was wracked by spasms as I grunted in pleasure over the farmer, humping him though even half-strokes seemed too intense to bear! I experienced the strongest peak I could remember with barely any movement, and my gorgeous farmer kicked and turned his head to one side, squeezing his eyes tight and sucking air through his nose.
He feels this, too. I’m sure of it!
Braqth’s Threshold, fulfilled.
Yes! I needed another Davrin!
I
stroked him with my cunt in an eager grip, managed a few at full length, and climaxed again. I was very loud in my throes, yipping, and weeping in holy pleasure, gripping his ribs to keep hold of my prize. Magic and strength rushed through me, through us, in a circle as it had with Kain, but this felt so pure! I babbled nonsense as I fucked him to a third peak not a moment later. My mouth didn’t work. I couldn’t speak, but I heard myself.
~Give it to me! Give me your seed! Give me your child!~
I couldn’t understand how my bua had resisted so far. My womb was ready and waiting, craving his essence, so thirsty to use it and begin the transition from Daughter to Mother at last! I fucked him, felt his inherent magic seep beneath my skin and bond with what the Priestess had done to me. He resisted me, struggled not to erupt as he bit deeply into the raw vegetable in his mouth. It was torture for him to hold back. It was torture for me.
~Why do you deny me, beautiful? Come! Give me an heir! I’m ready!~
I didn’t recognize the sound behind me at first, but I knew the instant after, when something looped around my neck, that it had been the door opening.
Oh, Braqth damn it.
A strap tightened, and the hard pull backward choked me, forced me to straighten up. Pain in my throat briefly overtook the pleasure between my legs. A flick later I couldn’t breathe, even as I clutched hard and wouldn’t let my chosen sire go.
Mine!
Another loop of rope came around to add to the strap, and a strong arm kept the line taut as she pulled herself in close enough to grab me in a melee lock. Blood-red boots planted themselves on either side of us on the table as she climbed up. With a giant heave, my body was yanked up and off my conquest and then tossed onto the floor.
The violence of my reaction would have shocked me if I’d been in my right mind. I screamed unintelligibly and in pure rage as I vaulted up again off the ground, aiming for the Red Sister standing between me and my chance to break the ritual’s spell. She had already jumped off the table and still held the other end of the rope which was around my neck. Though I struck out in ways practiced enough that I didn’t have to think, she blocked most of them and the fact that my House dagger was still on the counter may have saved my life.