Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “I don’t know about that; I do feel rather weak at the moment.” He chuckled as he lay on the floor. He was too tired to even sit up.

  Now she looked at him with thinly veiled contempt. Her eyes pinned him with ruthless honesty. “Physically you feel exhausted; but tell me, Harvester, do you feel weak? When you lifted me up, pressed me to the wall, and let desire own you—in that moment you were the strongest you have ever been. You weren’t the Harvester, you were Chur Zenge, a man with a heart and a soul. A man who knew exactly what he wanted and took it. From me.”

  Chur considered. What he’d felt in that moment was almost indescribable—powerful, masterful, and centered within himself. Sex with her was more than just an outlet for his pent-up lust. Sex with Enovese was a defining moment where all the parts of him merged. Unlike the Harvest where the ritual and drugs disconnected him from his body, here, with her, he was fully connected. He felt everything from the masculine thrust of his cock to the tender acceptance of her luscious cunt. Yet she was all he’d ever known. How could he base any decision on his first experience?

  At his silence, Enovese lifted a brow. “I wanted you to know that you are more than just a Harvester; that you are a man, and desire is as much a part of you as anything else. You cling to your duty in order to keep those thoughts and feelings at bay. The rules and rituals you live by, the ones that you adhere to so desperately, are there to control you. You say that you want to make your own choice, but falling back, doing what you do, then claiming it is your duty, means you do not have to make choices for they are made for you. Everything from what you eat to what you wear to when you rise and sleep is dictated to you.” Her voice rose in volume and her face flushed with anger. “So tell me, Harvester, for a man who insists on making his own choices, why do you cling to a role that entirely prohibits them?”

  Her words hit him like a slap to the face. She called him a hypocrite who hid behind the rules for he was too afraid to make his own choices. He did not want to contemplate such a bitter truth. He readied a biting retort, but her snort of derision stopped him.

  With a frustrated tone, she said, “Out of all the Harvesters I have served, only you seemed capable of breaking out of the seasons of indoctrination. Only you had a spark, a strength, something I recognized instantly that told me you would be the one to surmount the restrictive rules and become more than just the Harvester. Only you showed as great an intellect as you did physical prowess. You once asked me if I would ever try this on another and my answer was only you. But clearly, I was wrong. You are what you believe. And you firmly believe that you are nothing but the Harvester.” Enovese shook her head and looked away, as if ashamed of him.

  “How dare you speak to me this way?” Chur found the strength to stand. He would not be spoken to in this fashion by anyone, especially not his servant.

  “How dare I?” Utterly unintimidated by him, Enovese approached him and stood almost nose-to-nose. “I dare because nothing short of a verbal thrashing is going to make you see the truth. You don’t want to see yourself as a tool, and yet you are because you allow yourself to be. You deride me for breaking the rules and going beyond my role, but I didn’t pick this role. The magistrate forced me to become a paratanist and then mutilated me on top of it. But at least I chose not to take it lying down. I stood up and made choices. Maybe they were not kind choices for, yes, I tried to make choices for you, but again, you were floundering and unable to decide. I may have tricked you or tried to trick you, but at least I didn’t just stand around bemoaning my fate. I took action.”

  Her tirade left her breathless. Enovese took great gasping breaths in an effort to fight back tears, but she lost the battle. When the first tear fell, she abruptly turned away. Giving him her back. Slapping him with one final insult. He grasped her shoulder and spun her around. There was no fear in her face, only a harsh, bitter fury.

  “Go ahead, Harvester. Beat me for my insolence or cast me out to Rhemna. I care not what you do now. For at least you will have finally made a decision.” Enovese tilted her truculent nose up.

  Rage caused his jaw to clench so tightly he heard his teeth grind together. His fists gripped her upper arms. She winced in pain, yet she did not look away, nor did she apologize. Enovese met his gaze with only determined defiance.

  Taking a deep breath, he released her. “You want me to make a decision, then I will. I have decided that you will be my yondie. I will use you in whatever way I see fit, and you will comply whether you want to or not.” He injected every bit of nasty callousness into his tone that he could muster.

  Enovese laughed. Not a giggle or a chuckle but a full-blown, body-shaking laugh with her head tossed back. Rolling her head forward, she met his gaze, and said, “Go ahead and try, Harvester, because as soon as you get close to actually enjoying sex with me, you will relent and cower behind your duty. Just as you did before.”

  Two could play the nasty game. With a sneer, Chur said, “Not this time. Now that I know you are worthless as a bondmate, I will have no issues with commanding you to service me.”

  Her posture stiffened at the insult. A flare of vehemence and hurt blazed in her jade green eyes, then quickly vanished. Dropping into her paratanist drone, she said, “As you wish, Harvester.” She bowed formally.

  Gripping her face in one battle-scarred hand, he said, “My first order is that you will not speak to me in that tone of voice ever again.” He shook his head and mocked, “Talk about cowering behind your duty.”

  Mechanical and cold, Enovese asked, “What tone of voice would you prefer?”

  “Use a yondie voice. A wanton voice of one who lives only to pleasure me.”

  Enovese dropped her face submissively, lifting only her eyes, and whispered, “Like this, my master?”

  Her voice was deep and rich, pushing every nerve ending from his lips to the tip of his cock. With her voice alone, she aroused him to a shocking degree, but he refused to let it show. Tracing his finger to her lips, he said, “Very good. Now why don’t you put that mouth of yours to work? Get down on your knees and suck my cock.” He would make her regret accusing him of not being able to make decisions.

  Lifting her brows rather mockingly, Enovese sank to her knees before him and took his flaccid cock into her mouth. Just as in his dream, he felt himself grow hard bit by bit. He literally felt every drop of blood that flowed into his cock. Her tongue swirled over him as he grew harder, her teeth nibbled lightly, her cheeks pulled in a bit as she sucked softly. Enovese kept her eyes open and looking right up into his. He cupped the back of her head, teasing his fingers through her tangled hair, then rubbed the curve of her jaw.

  “Very good, my eager yondie. You have quite a talent for this.” He rocked his hips very slowly, slipping his growing cock over her lips, in and out of the warm wetness of her mouth. “Since I know they didn’t train you at the tanist house, you must have learned by thinking of sucking my cock. Is that it?”

  Without missing a beat, Enovese drew back and nodded yes while running her tongue along the slit at the top of his penis.

  “Can you taste yourself on me?”

  She executed the same sexy nodding of her head, then flashed him an insolent wink.

  Anger had fueled his need to humiliate her, but nothing would humble Enovese. He knew he could say and demand the most vulgar actions and she would comply with that insufferable knowing satisfaction in her eyes. The more he tried to master her, the more fully she would own him. A subtle pang of fear touched him then, for he didn’t know if he could continue to treat her this way. Deep inside, the animal part of him wanted to dominate her, force her to act out his most secret desires, but his conscience begged restraint. Standing above her, kneeling in supplication while she worshipped his cock, was a position of absolute power and intense pleasure; however, his position was one of profound responsibility as well. He would have to decide how far to go to get his pleasure without causing her pain.

  Chur gave her explicit instructions on
exactly how hard he wanted her to suck, when she should tighten her lips, where she should place her hands and how firmly to hold. She obeyed. And always, always, her gaze held his. Exasperated by the amusement in her eyes, he roughly withdrew.

  He let her watch him oil his cock. He took his time, working the oil along the length, watching her subconsciously lick her lips. He had her get on her hands and knees. He knelt behind her. She looked back over her shoulder and he ordered her to look down at the floor. She obeyed but not without flashing him a smirk first.

  Cupping his large hands to her heart-shaped bottom, he roughly parted her cheeks and placed his cock against the tight ring of her anus. She gasped. Enovese dug her fingertips into the carpet. He knew he’d finally succeeded in removing the mirth from her eyes. With one long, slow stroke, he forced the tip of his cock into her ass. Her head rolled back with her whimper of pleasure.

  He knew what she expected. What she wanted. But he was the one making the decisions now. Keeping the head of his cock wedged into the tight sucking heat of her, he then stroked his fist up and down his shaft, masturbating himself into her, using her as his vessel, just as he had on the night of the Harvest. It took a long time for him to climax, and when he did, he stood and walked to the bathing unit. He had no idea if she climaxed or not. He told himself he didn’t care. Deliberately, he turned his back on her while he bathed. When he finished, he went to bed without even glancing in her direction.

  14

  Enovese smoothed the cuffs of Chur’s dress uniform so the sleeves of the black jacket fell to the edge of his wrist and the crimson astle edging lay flat. Chur stood perfectly still while she fussed over him. He uttered a bored sigh. She knew he despised the official functions, but it was part of his duty to attend. Tonight was Ambo Votny’s season celebration. As the current magistrate, Ambo Votny wielded a great deal of power. Anyone of any importance must attend.

  The deep shadow black of Chur’s uniform enhanced his height and bulk. His thick black hair framed his summer-sky blue eyes, now that it had grown back enough to cover his skull with soft curls. The uniform, composed of a jacket and form-fitting trousers, was utterly black and devoid of decoration but for one slash from his shoulder to his hip. This slash exposed his most fearsome scar, and crimson astle edging trimmed the slash, drawing attention to the whiteness of the scar. Earlier, she had meticulously shaved his face free of hair so his facial scar would show, but also shaved the hair around the chest scar.

  Once she had the front of the jacket centered, she applied a sticky gel to the edging to hold it against his skin. She supposed the idea was that his scar was a part of his uniform. For military functions, he would wear his ceremonial sword, but not for a season celebration. Ambo had attained the venerable age of seventy seasons. Tonight, all would commemorate Ambo for not only his age but also his contributions as magistrate.

  Enovese sighed.

  “What?” Chur asked, frowning as he glanced at his uniform. “Didn’t you get the stain out?”

  At the last function, Ambo had splashed bright purple immis on the sleeve. After three hours of careful cleaning, she’d removed the stain. “You look most commanding.”

  With a subtle lift of his brow, Chur said, “Don’t tell me you wish to attend.”

  Enovese considered. Not that her wishes would matter in the least, for a paratanist would be as welcome as food poisoning, but if she could go as Chur’s bondmate…she sighed and shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “Good. I would think you mad, for any affair involving Ambo is dull. A gathering in his honor is even more so.” Under his breath, Chur muttered, “And I know if he doesn’t spill something on me, he will try to wipe snot on me.” Chur took a deep breath that lifted his chest. He growled and scratched. “Already it itches.”

  Enovese brushed his hand away. She didn’t want him to destroy the perfect line she’d achieved. Inspired, she retrieved the blue lotion and smoothed it along the scar and the shaved hair. Chur sighed in relief but didn’t actually thank her.

  “You need not wait up for me.”

  Once he left, Enovese leaned against the door. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to fantasize about attending the party as Chur’s bondmate. She imagined herself at his side, her astle dress cut low across her breasts and hugging her waist, then flaring around her hips, flowing all the way to the floor. Her hair would be up in an elaborate coiffure that would have taken her servant hours to perfect. Chur would not leave her side, so enchanted would he be with her beauty, her poise. Polite banter, soft chitchat, witty repartee would further charm him. He would lean close and whisper to her ear that she was the most beautiful woman in the entire room. Then he would murmer lusts and longings that would necessitate their early departure. Once alone, he would barely be able to control himself long enough to remove her dress and then…

  With a sigh, she shook her head, causing the hood to brush against her flushed cheeks. Despite her firm belief that Chur would relapse into duty, he hadn’t. Now, three entire cycles had passed. He’d kept to his decision to treat her as a yondie. He had no problem using her to satisfy his desires and then, without a thought to her needs, he would turn away and go about his business as if she didn’t exist. His utter indifference to her pleasure shocked her the first time, but after repeated incidences she felt debased. Where always thoughts of him, her fantasies and desires, had filled her with pleasure and unbearable giddiness, now she knew only shame for her desires, the acts that she performed upon him, and the lust that had always been such a basic part of her—now everything felt ugly. She knew that was his point. Chur wanted to reinforce his edict that she was worthless to him. That he would never claim her as his bondmate. He would use her for his pleasure, then ultimately discard her when the time came.

  Despite her mocking or perhaps because of it, Chur made a decision, then ruthlessly stuck to it. He often spoke about the next Harvest and how he would surely find his bondmate this time. As long as he survived the challenge, he knew the woman of his dreams would be among the virgins on the sacrifice table. Every time she thought he’d dug the dagger deep enough, he found a way to plunge it just a bit farther into her heart.

  The ritual of control reverted to the original structure she’d created. Chur always checked the straps before sitting. Her movements were mechanical. She no longer relished those nine days. She dreaded them. A part of her wanted to throw it in his face that the ritual had no basis in the prophecy but such might only compel more indifference. She feared that he would laugh and force her to perform anyway. Therefore, she kept her mouth shut and executed the ritual, but she never felt even a brief tingle between her legs.

  Chur noticed that where once she flowed with lusty juice she was now almost dry. He didn’t care. He used more and more oil. However, she noticed that he was not as hard. Chur went through the motions of using her for his pleasure, but gratification often eluded him. He would suddenly stop and move away, coldly dismissing her. Once, she heard him masturbating below his covers; apparently, his own hand was better than her disinterested form.

  Enovese took no satisfaction in knowing this. She longed to return to the honest passion they had shared. To a mutual, reciprocal, wanton lust. She would rather return to celibacy than suffer any more mechanical acts that apparently left both of them disappointed.

  With another sigh, she straightened his rooms, then retreated to her bedroom. She opened the sacred chest, thinking that perhaps she would write out the events of the last few days, but tears flowed as soon as she saw the dress. Crumpled in a corner, the emerald green astle fabric bunched into a careless mass, as if it, like her heart, huddled with unendurable pain. So much promise had gone into crafting the bonding dress. Not only had she risked discovery by stealing the fabric, but the water pearls, taken a few at a time from the temple, would have resulted in execution had she been caught stealing them from the goddess offerings. Enovese thought the goddess who looked over paratanists would have understood. Therefore
, she took them despite the risks. She’d painstakingly placed each water pearl across the bodice and spiraled down the skirt. Each night, over the course of three seasons, she’d worked on the dress with visions of bonding with Chur filling her mind.

  A surge of anger caused her to yank the dress from the corner. She moved to the kitchen, intent on cutting it to ribbons and throwing it away, but as she lifted a paring knife to the water-soft fabric, she found she could not destroy it. Doing so would be like cutting her own heart from her chest. Instead, she decided to wear the dress one last time before placing it back in the sacred chest forever.

  Chur would not return for hours, so she undressed in the kitchen and pulled on the dress. It fit more loosely than before. Chur’s indifference caused her appetite to plummet to almost nothing. As she considered herself in the full-length looking glass, she thought the emerald green only highlighted the torment in her eyes. Working her fingers through her hair, she removed the tight braid and smiled at the waves of luscious brown strands that flowed over her shoulders, along the curve of her breasts, almost as if her hair were a cape. She twirled in a circle, fanning her hair out just like the skirt of the dress.

  Enovese stared at her reflection for a very long time, committing every detail to memory. For she knew she would never wear this dress again. When she put it away, it would stay there. Letting the costume go would be a concrete symbol of shelving her dreams forever. Despite the pain, she lifted her chin, for she hadn’t been a coward. No. She had boldly challenged the confines of her position and strived to make her wildest dreams come true. She had failed, but at least she had tried.

  When she heard the main door open her eyes popped wide. She grabbed her robe and pulled it over her shoulders and hair, but it wasn’t long enough to cover the flared skirt of the dress. Desperately, she grasped handfuls of silk and bunched it up around her thighs, but now she clearly looked like she was trying to hide something.