Dark Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  She dismissed the thought as merely the culmination of a day devoted to erotic ritual. Tomorrow, her mind and body would be back to normal, and she would be able to best him verbally. Not physically, for that was not where her strength lay, but with her mind and her words, she would master him.

  Hallway after hallway, each more lavish than the last, led them to the Empress Hall. As soon as Kasmiri entered, tears blurred her vision. White and crimson flowers filled the room with a heady perfume. In the center stood a raised dais covered with white astle, the perfect stage for her bonding ceremony. The most momentous occasion of her life should have been with Chur.

  Even now, she envisioned him standing there, nude, his body primed and waiting as the magistrate spoke the invocation to bind their souls for all eternity. Now, she must perform the ritual with a man she didn’t desire. How had her plans backfired so greatly? Had her willful disregard for the gods caused them to punish her in this most ironic fashion? For no matter what she said, she would have to spend at least one night in her bed with her consort in order to provide an heir. Once she did, she would be free to take other lovers, but until then, she could not.

  As she entered the room, she thought it might be for the best to hurry things along and fornicate with this man until a girl child came of it. Then she could move on to her plans for Chur. For even with this, Kasmiri had not changed her mind. She would fulfill her obligations, then satisfy her own desires. During that time she would seek Chur out to tease and torment him, so that when she was free, he would want her more than she wanted him.

  Sterlave could practically read her thoughts as they entered the room. All this finery was for Chur, not him. Kasmiri and her mother must have been planning for days because this elaborate display was not a coincidence. Something this magnificent would have taken time to execute. White and crimson flowers covered almost everything in the room. The sweet perfume was almost overpowering. Petals decorated the walkway, and padded benches surrounded the dais in the center. The seats were empty but probably not for long. The elite would come to witness the moment of the future empress bonding to her consort.

  Plush drapes lined the walls, covering up the artwork that normally hung there. Sterlave had been in this room once when the empress needed extra guards as a show of force for a visiting dignitary. Clathia had posted guards in every room of the tour to impress upon the man that Diola was a mighty power. Only the common people lived in huts and thatched roofed hovels.

  “Wisely,” Clathia said, “we have kept technology out of the hands of those too intellectually inferior to handle it.”

  Sterlave had never forgotten that moment, or how Clathia tilted her face high, as if the gods themselves blessed her for her selfishness. Technology could have saved his mother from her injuries. But the empress withheld vital services to keep the bulk of the populace ignorant and, therefore, pliable. Often a simple wound led to a painful death.

  Sterlave had struggled long and hard to win his place as a recruit only to stumble when brought to the palace. So many men fought for the right to become the Harvester. Sterlave wasn’t the weakest, but he was far away from being the strongest. Three seasons he sweated and strained to get to where he was today. He had challenged the most powerful Harvester ever known. He had lost, but the gods had chosen to let him live.

  At the back of the room, serbreds pulled aside plush drapes. Just the sight of the deliberately bred humans shivered his spine, for they were further proof of the elite’s entitlement. For thousands of seasons they had bred humans to provide themselves with intellectually limited servants. Serbreds were like domesticated animals. They would be lost without guidance. All of them looked the same with brown hair, brown eyes, and bland beige robes. A snarl darted across his face for he believed the original mating pairs had come from his region of Gant: the members of his tribe had the same coloring.

  The diminutive servants had to reach well over their heads to hold the fabric open for Empress Clathia. A body-hugging red dress encased her voluptuous form, but a terrible sadness lurked in her eyes. Clathia was a beautiful woman, but she possessed a cold beauty, like a glittering gem. A jewel was stunning but still just a rock that offered no comfort.

  Clearly, she had not expected anyone to be standing there for she startled back. Shock widened her eyes, then a smile graced her face. Apparently, Clathia didn’t care that Chur had not chosen her daughter. She seemed pleased Kasmiri had been selected at all.

  Clathia hardly spared him a glance as she rushed toward Kasmiri. “My daughter, how wonderful!” Clathia embraced Kasmiri, who winced at the hug as if a blow. “Take a moment to refresh yourselves, and I will call the guests.”

  Whatever fight Kasmiri had left fled in the face of her mother’s joy. She didn’t respond to her mother, she simply moved off to the split in the drapes as if pulled by unrelenting strings.

  Sterlave followed.

  In a smaller room, they found food and drink. While they ate, a horde of servants filled two tubs with steaming water. These were not of the serbred class, but they were still dressed in the same beige robes all servants wore.

  As soon as they finished eating, the servants stripped them and motioned them into the tubs. Sterlave tried to get a glimpse of Kasmiri, but the female servants blocked his view as they soaped her from head to toe. At that moment, he wished he were her faithful servant so that his hands could cleanse and anoint her body. He laughed. He would end up delaying the ceremony for hours with his need to be thorough.

  Sterlave allowed three male servants to do the same to him, but he found their intimate touches uncomfortable. Especially when the one who looked like Chur with black hair and light blue eyes caressed his cock and balls with a bit too much enthusiasm. Since his paratanist had shaved him for the Harvest, his body was extremely sensitive. Even the lightest stroke sent his senses reeling.

  Traces of the umer that kept him hard but unable to orgasm lingered, because despite his arousal, he wouldn’t be able to orgasm for quite some time. However, the servant’s strokes were pleasing, especially the way he tightened his fist as he went down the length. Whoever had trained this man had trained him well in the erotic arts. But, too, he could be removing the estal oil, for the more he stroked, the more Sterlave could actually feel. When the servant lowered his face but kept his gaze riveted to Sterlave’s, he knew the goal was both: to clean and to pleasure. Sudden shame made him want to shove the man aside, but just as he moved to do so, the servant moved on to washing his legs and feet.

  Sterlave relaxed into the water and closed his eyes. Not once since he was a child had he known a touch that was not brutal. When he closed his eyes, he could imagine the hands as Kasmiri’s, which only made his arousal worse. Desperately, he turned his mind to the battles he had fought in the training rooms and the bitter revenge lurking in Loban’s gaze.

  Finally, they deemed him clean enough and compelled him to rise from the water so they could dry him. After rubbing him briskly, they anointed his body with fragrant oils. Not estal, but something that instead of deadening sensation, increased it. Now when the blue-eyed servant stroked his cock, Sterlave felt his balls swell with a need for climax. Only the umer held his orgasm at bay. In addition, he didn’t think that was the intent. The point seemed to be to arouse him, not release him. All this must be part of the bonding ceremony. Or so he hoped. He wasn’t sure what bothered him so much—the servant’s obvious enjoyment, or his own.

  When they finished slathering him, they covered him in a hooded white robe trimmed in crimson, then led him to the dais. A drape now enclosed the raised platform and separated the two halves of the circle. Once enshrouded, they removed the robe and bowed their way out of the enclosure. Beyond the drapes, he heard the shuffling and murmurings of a small crowd of people. They must be the guests Clathia had spoken of, but he hadn’t seen them because the robe covered his head.

  Sterlave knew nothing of the elite’s ritual bonding ceremony, but he grew bored waiting. Knowing
Kasmiri as little as he did, he still knew the delay was of her making. She probably fussed and berated the servants to put her hair just so. She was a vain creature, but then again, her vanity was justified on this her bonding day.

  A rustle of fabric across from him and the dead silence from the witnesses made him aware the ceremony was about to commence.

  With a whoosh, the fabric around the dais and the fabric that separated him from Kasmiri dropped. He didn’t have a moment to worry that he was utterly bare and painfully aroused in a room full of people because the vision of Kasmiri consumed his attention. Despite her nudity, she stood with her shoulders back, her head held high, and a look of determined bliss on her face. Determined, because her smile didn’t touch her eyes. She put on her soon-to-be-empress face for the attendees.

  Her shoulders were wide, her clavicle bones only slightly prominent. Her breasts were heavy with dark nipples the color of fresh gara fruit. Her waist tapered sharply from her ribcage, compelling him to wrap his hands about the indentations to pull her close. Her tummy curved around her belly button, perfect for nuzzling. A few gemstones still glittered in her pubic hair, entrancing, drawing his gaze to seek the other treasures hidden there. Her thighs were strong but sleek, curving down to dimpled knees, slender ankles, and surprisingly small feet. He couldn’t have designed a more perfect body. Much like her face, if he separated the elements they would be nothing of note, but together they were impossibly intriguing. She had a body he would never tire of exploring.

  Kasmiri didn’t move her gaze from his face. He frowned slightly, wondering why she wasn’t even remotely curious about his body. Then he wondered if he had broken some type of protocol. Perhaps he wasn’t supposed to look. Which was silly since why else would they be naked? So everyone else could get a good look?

  Sterlave wished someone would have told him what to expect, for in his tribe, a bonding ceremony was very, very different. The two intended would walk from different ends of the main road to the center of the village. Once there, they would clasp hands, proclaim their vow of eternal companionship, embrace, then receive a blessing from the most elder member of the tribe. After that, the entire village celebrated with food, drink, and dancing until the wee hours of the morning. And everyone kept his or her clothes on.

  Out of the drapes along the side of the room, Ambo Votny emerged wearing a white robe and a ridiculously large fur hat. The rotund man could barely move his head or the towering monstrosity would fall off. Sterlave gritted his teeth to stifle his laughter. He’d rather be naked than dressed like a fool.

  Ambo approached the dais to Sterlave’s left and began to recite an invocation in the ancient tongue. All Sterlave knew was his words for the Harvest ritual, so he had no idea what Ambo said. Kasmiri seemed to understand, which made sense since she would be educated more thoroughly because of her station. A niggling doubt invaded his calm. Kasmiri would always know more than he would. He worried she might lord her superior education over him.

  Ambo stopped speaking and pointed to a spot in front of Sterlave.

  Sterlave glanced at Kasmiri and shrugged his shoulders slightly as he had no idea what to do.

  “Kneel,” Kasmiri whispered. “You must show your obedience to me as the future empress.”

  He hesitated for a moment, but then fell to his knees. He looked up. A glow of power lit Kasmiri’s face as she took a step toward him. She placed her hands upon his head and maneuvered his face to her sex. Despite her recent bath, her sex smelled musky with excitement. Apparently, his mate enjoyed being on display.

  “Kiss me.”

  His eyebrows shot up. What kind of a ceremony was this? He discovered he did not take pleasure in putting on a show, but her scent invited him to comply. As he placed a reverent kiss upon her mound, he darted his tongue out for a quick taste. Nothing in the world had ever tasted as good as her slick sex. Her shocked pleasure caused his cock to twitch as he smiled up at her. She flashed him a look that could only be a caution for him to behave.

  Kasmiri compelled him to rise with a hand to his chin. Once he again stood facing her, Ambo droned another speech. When he stopped, he handed Kasmiri a small green vial festooned with gems. She removed the stopper, poured a glittering clear liquid into her hand, and then handed the bottle back. Working her hands together caused the substance to sparkle. Kasmiri uttered a short speech, then cupped her hands around his cock.

  Vibrations and heat exploded sensations along his shaft, then deep into his flesh. His head spun as he lost his breath. His penis felt huge, bigger than the entire room. So demanding was the pulsing flesh, it consumed all his thoughts with a desire for climax. He took a deep breath to hold steady, but the taste of Kasmiri on his lips only increased his hallucination. He was no longer a man but a rampaging cock. If he did not possess her, he would die.

  Kasmiri turned, presenting him with her back; then she bent at the waist, offering herself to him. He didn’t need any instructions. He grasped her hips and plunged into her with startling accuracy. Kasmiri gasped at the invasion. Unlike the Harvest where they couldn’t feel anything, here, they felt everything. Even the most minute texture within her luscious sex stroked along his sensitized shaft. As she circled her hips, trying to pull him deeper, he thought the liquid was now tormenting her as well. She moaned low in her throat as if she could never get enough.

  Time slowed to a dreamlike consistency. His large hands contrasted the tawny darkness of her hips. He gripped her so firmly he knew he would leave fingertip bruises. Cascades of rich black tresses flowed down her back like an exotic waterfall. When she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes were fever-bright, her crimson lips parted against her panting breath.

  Drawing her up, he pressed his chest to her back as his hands cupped her breasts. Firm but yielding, they felt too big for his hands with a thousand distinct textures he greedily explored. When he teased her rigid nipples, she growled and angled her hips to afford him greater depth. Her bottom plushed invitingly around his groin and rippled with each plunge of his hips. Wrapping his arms around her to hold her, he thrust so determinedly he lifted her off her feet.

  Her sex tightened with a fierce orgasm that almost crushed his cock. Every muscle in his body tensed as he poured his climax into her. Wave after wave jetted from his body until he felt utterly drained.

  Carefully, he lowered her to her feet, placing a gentle kiss to her neck. He had wanted their first time to be slow and tender, but the magical liquid ruined his plans. Still, he would never forget this moment with Kasmiri. This one moment with her rendered all his sacrifices insignificant.

  A burst of applause startled him, causing his penis to slip from her. The loss was so profound his heart clutched painfully in his chest. He had entirely forgotten about their audience. As he glanced around, he realized these people were not guests but witnesses: Sterlave had to kneel to her power, but Kasmiri had to bow to his possession. Moreover, there would be no question that they had consummated their relationship.

  4

  Kasmiri drifted back to reality when her feet touched the dais. Powerful arms encircled her, and she never wanted him to let go. If he did, she feared she would simply float away. As she caught her breath, she could smell his fresh sweat and thought it the most intriguing scent she had ever known. She wanted to turn and lick his chest, to taste the salt of his exertions; then she would stand on tiptoe to plunder his mouth. Only his flavor would soothe her needs.

  Throughout the ceremony, she tried to imagine he was Chur, but his presence was too intense to ignore. In those sacred moments, she had been with him, and only him. She frowned when she realized she still didn’t know his name.

  Clapping hands rumbled like thunder, shocking her, for the elite surrounding her had ceased to exist. For a brief, shining moment, her entire world was nothing but mutual bliss between her and her consort. He too startled at the noise, withdrawing his softening cock from her aching sex. Tears caused her vision to double, then treble. She felt bereft
, as if she would never again know such sweet completion. Was the jaras gel responsible for her sudden and profound attachment to him? Only those of the empress line could use the liquid during the bonding ceremony. Did jaras gel possess magical properties as Undanna’s tales intimated?

  Before she could ponder the question, Undanna’s protocol lessons kicked in. Kasmiri blinked back her tears, turned, and faced her eternal bondmate. She could have many consorts, but she would have only one bondmate.

  A blush turned his entire body softly pink below his lightly bronzed skin. Being on display embarrassed him. His eyes widened as he considered the people around them as if he, too, had utterly forgotten them.

  Kasmiri spared them a glance but looked away when she noticed bulging trousers and nipple-tented blouses. How could such a sight not arouse them? Only an empress or a future empress underwent such an elaborate and public bonding ceremony. She wondered how many of these men would mount their mates while thinking of her and how many of the women would think of—

  “What is your name?” Kasmiri asked in a breathless whisper.

  Shamefaced, he grinned as he whispered, “Sterlave.”

  She thought the name suited him. Sterlave was a strong name indicative of the Gant region. Judging by the expressions on the women’s faces, they would think of Sterlave as their mates worked between their slick thighs this night. Such a thought didn’t disturb her, it excited her, for they could fantasize all they wanted, but they would never know his actual touch. She would make sure of that. For now and forever, Sterlave belonged exclusively to her.