Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Instantly, the blood rushed away from his penis. His erection deflated so comically fast he laughed at the sight but also with relief since the urge to climax magically disappeared. His chest lifted with a huge sigh. Enovese soothed the lotion down to his balls and they, too, stopped throbbing. She rubbed lotion all over his chest and legs, and the red flush disappeared.

  Shrouded in her robe, her body shook as she dropped to her knees beside him. She lowered her head until her forehead pressed against his thigh. Her flesh felt hot and her trembling breath puffed along his skin in a moist wind. To his shock, he realized she was crying. They had performed this ritual many times but never had his reaction been so painfully intense. Toward the end, he feared that whether he climaxed or not he would die from a lack of air.

  “Calm yourself, paratanist.” He allowed a brutal tone to vibrate in his voice. A part of him wished to comfort her, but he clung to his duty. Besides, what comfort could he offer her? Moreover, why should he comfort her when he was the one who had to suffer the torment of arousal for eight painful nights?

  “We have completed the first phase of the ritual.” Enovese straightened away from him and stood. She released the bonds and ran to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  Chur grabbed his loincloth off the floor and wrapped it around his hips. He strode to her room and flung the door open. He wasn’t sure what he expected, maybe to see her frantically rubbing herself to climax, but Enovese sat in the center of her bed with her hands clasped in her lap. His bold entrance snapped her head up, but the hood shrouded her face.

  With two steps, he stood right before her and bellowed, “I did not dismiss you, my paratanist.”

  She nodded. “What do you require, Harvester?” She tried for the bland voice but missed completely. Her husky tone sounded at once seductive yet tormented.

  A thousand requirements flashed in his mind, all of them tawdry and wild, but he said only, “You will set the room to rights.”

  Enovese darted passed him and he followed. With jerky movements, she placed the chair against the wall, dropped her kneeling cushion on the seat, and then grabbed the two bottles off the floor.

  “Tell me, my paratanist, are you wet?”

  The bottle of oil slipped from her fingers. She bent to retrieve it and his mind flashed on her bending over the table, her bottom rosy from his slaps. He knew he should just go to bed, but he found a surge of energy flowing through him. Perhaps from the odd blue lotion she’d placed upon him. Now that, the blue lotion, was new. She’d never used that on him before. He waited for an answer, but she simply stood still.

  “I asked you if you are wet.”

  Enovese squared her shoulders. “I am wet, Harvester.” Again, she could not quite hit that emotionless drone.

  “Show me.”

  For a moment, she stood nonplussed.

  Chur pointed to the ritual chair. “Sit.”

  She followed his order and sat down. She kept her legs together and her hands clasped in her lap.

  He thought about his duty and realized as long as he did not touch her he really wasn’t breaking any of the rules. He still did not fully understand why the rituals excited her so, but he wished to know just how wet she was. Moreover, he did not want her to find release when he could not. If he must suffer, so must she. Perhaps he’d found a way to punish her with sex after all.

  Placing himself cross-legged on the floor before her, he leaned back, balancing himself on his hands as he considered her robe-shrouded form. So bland, so nondescript, the thick mondi fabric left everything to his imagination.

  “Move forward until your bottom is at the edge of the chair and part your legs.”

  Enovese slid forward into position. The two edges of the robe overlapped, denying him more than a glimpse of her slender ankles.

  “Pull your robe up.”

  Gripping handfuls of fabric, she slid the robe up, exposing her legs. The fabric bunched around her hips, but she grasped more and pulled until he could see her sex. Short coco-brown stubble patterned a V that drew his attention to coral lips glistening with arousal.

  “You are wet.”

  Enovese turned her head away. Even though he knew he could not see her eyes, he nonetheless ordered her to look at him. Her head turned his direction and he smiled, because he knew she could see him.

  “Spread your legs farther apart.”

  Her breath caught, but she did as he bid. Chur leaned near; almost close enough to taste her. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of her luscious scent. If the lotion had not been on him, he knew his erection would have returned vigorously. With the lotion blocking the blood flow, he experienced a unique sensation of arousal without any of the typical signs of arousal. Rather than a relentless need for climax driving him, he found he could relax and enjoy every moment.

  Enovese, however, was trembling with need. Her lovely sex had grown darker, wetter, and as he blew a whisper breath across her tormented flesh, she uttered a gasp, then a low animalistic groan.

  “Finger yourself.”

  Readjusting the fabric bunched around her hips, she lowered her hand, slid her middle finger down, and buried her finger between slippery lips. Slowly, she slid her finger in and out of her slick passage. Her head rolled back. A shudder trembled through her limbs causing her hand to brush against her clit.

  “Not there. You can touch yourself anywhere but there.”

  She said nothing, but her elongated groan conveyed her frustration. She wanted to climax. If he let her continue, it wouldn’t take long for her to reach the edge of the plunging precipice. A part of him wanted to watch her climax, but he also wanted her to suffer. He decided that tonight, they would engage in the ritual of control together. Enovese would wait, and suffer the torments she inflicted on him. He watched her slide her finger around the coral-lipped passage of her cunt until her arousal glistened, coating her entire hand.

  “Tell me, my paratanist, which do you enjoy more: fingering yourself or me watching you do it?”

  Her body strained against the chair. “You watching me.” Her tone of voice was stunningly beautiful. He hadn’t heard the full richness since his order to return to their duties. He didn’t realize how much he missed her true voice until he heard it again.

  “Do you want to climax?”

  She arched her back and every muscle in her legs went taut. “Yes.” She drew out the sound of the s until she hissed the letter into a note of pleading.

  Lifting her feet to tiptoe, she parted her legs even more so she could get more of her finger inside. The crescent-shaped scar on her upper right thigh smoothed out. She tried to slip a second finger beside the first, but he ordered, “Only one.”

  Her shoulders slumped, but she followed his command.

  He desperately wanted to see her face. He almost ordered her to remove the hood, then hesitated. With nine nights of torment, he didn’t want to do everything all at once. Like rare liquor, he would sip slowly and savor every scent, taste, vision, and sound.

  “Stop. Pull your hand away.”

  Her moan was so deep that her torment rumbled through his body. He ordered her to lift her hand, palm out, and when she did, she trembled so violently he felt a surge of pity for her. He picked up the bottle of blue lotion and placed a drop on the tip of her middle finger. He ordered her to spread her lips with her left hand and dab the lotion to her clit.

  “Tell me what it feels like.”

  “My clit is numb.”

  “No matter how much you rub, you won’t be able to climax.”

  Enovese couldn’t even answer; she simply shook her head side to side very slowly.

  He chuckled wickedly. “But you can feel blood throbbing in every other bit of your hungry cunt?”

  “Chur, please.”

  “What did you call me?” His voice hardened.

  Realizing that she’d slipped, she sputtered, “Harvester, please. I can’t stand the ache.” Her voice faded to a desperate, beggin
g edge.

  He stood and peered down at her. Her spread legs quivered with exhaustion and her shoulders slumped. She looked fragile and broken.

  “Now you know how I have suffered. What you feel now is nothing compared to the torment I have known.” He grabbed the lotion. “But I promise that you will be intimate with lust denied. Now stand, put your robe to rights.”

  A bit wobbly, Enovese climbed to her feet, brushed her robe down, and then clenched her hands to fists at her sides.

  “Do not tell me that you are angry.”

  The tension instantly left her fists. “No, Harvester.”

  “In the past, after each phase of the ritual, you went to your room and pleasured yourself, didn’t you?”

  She lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “No, Harvester. I waited. On the last night when you found release, I found my own, without even a touch to my body.”

  He believed her. “Why were you in tears earlier?”

  “Because I thought I hurt you. When we do the ritual of control, I experience the depth of your lust. Tonight, the feeling overpowered me, and like you, I could not breathe, and I was terrified.”

  Now he understood why she found so much pleasure in the rituals. She placed herself within him, mentally, such that she could experience his physical reactions. There was a name for such a thing, but he could not think of what it was. He wished he could do the same to her and feel everything as if he were within her body. He would like to know what it felt like to have his cock slowly penetrate her cunt. He would enjoy feeling both simultaneously.

  Lost in the erotic thought, he shook his head, and ordered, “Go to bed, my paratanist, but you will leave the door open. I do not wish to hear any—fumbling—in the night.”

  Enovese bowed and entered her room. Chur put the lotion by his bed. As he crawled between the sheets, he thought of how to increase her distress in the coming nights. There was a delicious irony in the thought that he could torment her by increasing his own torment. However, after his experience tonight, he didn’t think he could survive much more.

  12

  True to his word, Chur conducted his own version of the ritual of control on her each night. His erotic creativity astounded her, and yet he never touched her. Having to perform sexual acts on herself for his amusement drove her body into exhausted arousal.

  Throughout the day, her skin sizzled and her cunt (a word she once loathed but now loved) tingled and contracted, as if desperately seeking the girth of Chur’s cock. Her longing increased, for she teased his pulsing tool with her oil-slicked hands each night. As she performed her part of the ritual, she could feel his cock swelling painfully, but too, she felt his cock within her. In a flash, she could move her awareness from her body to his, and several times she came very close to orgasm.

  She denied herself.

  On this the morning of the ninth night, her entire pelvic region felt heavy and constricted, as if all the blood in her body had pooled there and then thickened. As she slid from her bed and pulled on her robe, her thighs slicked smoothly against each other when she walked for she was wet. She had been continuously wet. Copiously and constantly, her sex was slick every hour of the day and night for the last nine.

  Her breasts felt swollen and heavy, her nipples chafed from rubbing against her robe, for Chur ordered her not to wear the shift. On the sixth night, when Chur had her open her robe without removing her hood, he’d discovered her tormented nipples.

  At first, he had her soothe them with oil, then tug and twist them between her fingers and thumbs. “Lift them up,” Chur said. “Cup them with your hands, offer them to me, beg me to suck them.”

  She’d complied with his order, thanking her hood for hiding her face, for she blushed so deeply her cheeks hurt. Of course, he refused her entreaties, which only aroused her more.

  On the seventh night, he had her repeat the actions but added a new twist; rather than using the soothing oil, he had her use pungent oil that at first contact cooled, but as she continued to rub the oil, it warmed, and then became almost painfully hot. Such intensity pushed her right to the edge until Chur allowed her to use the blue lotion to stop the torture.

  On the eighth night, he ordered her to her knees before the ritual chair so she could rest her chest upon it. He had her pull her robe up so her bottom was exposed and then ordered her to prepare herself for him. She hesitated, then felt a stream of oil between her cheeks. “Finger your ass with one hand, your cunt with the other.”

  Trying to balance was unbelievably awkward, but she managed. Chur stalked around her, checking her from every angle, encouraging her as she worked her fingers inside her own body. His words were vulgar, harsh, causing her to feel like a nasty yondie indulging a lusty customer. Yet she wasn’t ashamed of this image. Just the idea of him paying her to cater to his every whim aroused her. She the servant, he her master. When her breathing altered, and she stood at the brink of climax, Chur ordered her to stop.

  Before he would let her go to bed each night he would have her place a dollop of the blue lotion on her clit to prevent orgasm. With only that spot numb, it was as if the rest of her body tried to dissipate the energy, which, of course, it could not. She called it the agony of ecstasy. Her dreams only served to increase the burning in her sex.

  Chur’s sleep was just as tormented. Since he ordered her to keep her bedroom door open, she could hear him tossing and turning, moaning out thwarted lust deep in the night.

  In the midst of all of Chur’s demands, she carefully kept to her part of the ritual. She touched him the exact same way each night and put the blue lotion on him only when he demanded it. This gave Chur a tremendous feeling of power and control, which he, in turn, used during his training sessions. One of the reasons she’d developed the ritual of control was she had discovered that Chur took thwarted lust and turned it outward into battle prowess. She honestly believed it helped him focus, and now she had the proof of it. Each night he returned exhausted but pleased with his performance, and ready for the next night of lusty indulgence.

  But today, today was the culmination of the ritual. She had no idea what Chur had in mind, but she had her own plans. So far, he had not allowed her to remove her hood. Perhaps he could maintain control only if he did not see her fully exposed. This oddity at first bothered her, as if she were nothing but a body to him, but then she realized the hood afforded her an odd kind of anonymity. Hidden in the shadowed depth, she could more easily indulge Chur’s demands while secretly reveling in them.

  Normally, she spent the entire ninth day tormenting him, but Chur would not skip even a day of training. The ultimate challenge with Loban weighed heavily on his mind. When he informed her of his decision, she simply bowed, and said, “As you wish, Harvester.”

  Chur leaned close and whispered, “When I return tonight, we will complete the ritual. Have everything prepared, for I will not want to wait.”

  His husky tone shot a tingle of electricity across her already sensitive skin, then straight down to her clit. As if he knew, he had her lift her robe and place a bit of the blue lotion upon her sex. He needn’t have bothered, for she did not intend to release her pent-up hunger until tonight.

  Once he left, Enovese carefully shaved her body free of hair, even her sex. Doing so washed the lotion away and her clit throbbed, demanding attention, which she ignored. She cleaned her hair, then used a scented oil to smooth the wayward strands. She rubbed a fruit-scented lotion onto her flesh. Once her hair dried, she brushed the deep coco-brown length until the red and gold highlights glowed.

  Considering her reflection, she longed for cosmetics to enhance the color of her eyes but decided that the lust within the indigo starburst gave her more intensity than any enhancements could. Desire alone intensified the color of not only her eyes but also her lips, her nipples, even her sex. Even though her thighs pressed together, she could see the slick wetness and just the hint of color.

  Parting her legs, she now considered her shaved se
x. The slender lips were puffy and very dark coral. Her clit poked from a hood of flesh, reminding her of her head emerging from the hood of her robe. Spreading the lips apart with her fingers, her clit stood at attention like a tiny soldier, ready and willing to forge into battle.

  Tilting her hips, she could then see the tight entrance of her passage. Slick and wet, she couldn’t resist the urge to slide her finger around the taut muscles that stood guard at the entrance. Grasping at the tiny thrust of her finger, her cunt contracted rhythmically. She had not felt Chur within her passage since the Harvest. Tonight, she vowed, she would feel him stretch that space to the limits. The initial pain of him taking her virginity was long gone. All that remained was a blazing need to feel him plunge into her again.

  She teased herself to the edge, then stopped. Her normally pale skin glowed with a flush of excitement. For once, she could look at her body and not worry at the oddly placed scar of the crescent moon on her upper right thigh. She had no recollection of how or why that mark came to be on her pale flesh, and for once, she didn’t care. The scar was simply a part of her.

  Donning her robe, she then set the stage for the finale. She placed the chair in the center of the main room, placed her kneeling cushion on the floor beside it, and then placed the bottle of soothing oil within reach.

  Chur kept the blue lotion and what she dubbed the sensation oil, the one that went from cool to hot, with him. She’d almost laughed at how possessive he was with the blue lotion. Should she wish, she could whip up another batch with ingredients from the kitchen. But again, it gave Chur a profound sense of power that she indulged.

  To enhance her own sense of power, she replaced the supple leather straps on the chair with thicker straps. She’d convinced Chur the straps weren’t really to hold him; they were strictly ritualistic to help him focus his mental power on resisting the lust she invoked. He had strained against them and had almost broken them, but tonight, even with all his massive power, he would not be able to break free of these straps.