Kerrick released her beyond sensitive clit and captured her ankles, straightening her legs as he rose up and slid his cock within her quivering passage. He did all of this so smoothly she scarce knew what was happening until she felt him stretching her around his throbbing shaft. He growled and again said something in a guttural language she didn’t comprehend. More sparks enveloped her as she tightened around his thrusting staff. Kerrick increased the tempo, working himself deeper into her with each powerful thrust.
When she opened her eyes, the look on his face held her enthralled. His head was back, the strong column of his throat taut with barely leashed bellows. Sweat covered his heaving chest, while his arms strained from the act of holding her up for each mighty plunge. Animal heat, untamed lust. In that moment, he was a beast using her to sate his longings, which caused her to experience another series of shattering sparks.
When Kerrick bellowed, thrust forward, and clutched her hips in a forceful grip, she knew he’d climaxed, too. He gulped breath and fell against her. Sweat slick, his skin felt cool against hers. The smell and texture flickered the very vestige of a memory, a memory she realized she wasn’t supposed to have.
Before he could say anything, Ariss slid from beneath him and rushed toward the door. To her utter relief, the heavy door swung open, allowing her to make her escape.
3
Ariss was gone before Kerrick realized her intent to flee. Exhausted, he flopped facedown on the bed. His cock twitched, releasing the last of his climax against the bedding. He would have gone after her, but just the thought of running with his still-spurting member jouncing between his legs made him cringe. With a shake of his head, he rolled over and placed himself more fully on the bed. He trained his eyes on the glowing ceiling crystals.
What was wrong with that woman? Never, not once in all his vast experiences, had he ever bedded a more intriguing combination of frightened virgin and wanton yondie. True, most of those he’d been with had either lost their virginity to a man long before him, or if they were from planet Diola, they’d willingly given their virginity to a Harvester like him during the Harvest ritual, which surely, Ariss, as a native Diolan, had done.
However, one moment she was passionate beyond words, so eager for pleasure her greediness fairly oozed from her pores. In the next breath, she quivered below him, holding her breath, her eyes widening with shock, especially when he’d taken her tender clit into his mouth. Her eyes rounded along with her mouth into perfect little O’s. He’d almost pulled back, for he misread her reaction as revulsion, but then her brows settled over those cool gray eyes of hers, turning them smoky and lustful.
Rather than pulling away, he’d delved in deeper, enjoying the musky essence of her scent, and the way she could only fully enjoy his ministrations with her eyes closed. Such conflicted directly with how she’d enjoyed watching him handle his cock. How could she enjoy watching him doing one thing but not another?
Considering, Kerrick couldn’t think of another woman who’d ever asked that of him, not quite like that, where he was to masturbate with her simply observing. Most women wanted him to pleasure them so they could watch, not watch him pleasure himself. Something about that moment had intrigued and aroused Ariss. He needed no more proof than that of her stiff nipples. When she’d parted her legs, ever so slightly, he’d seen further evidence of her arousal.
Gods, and the scent of her!
He shook his head as if to dislodge her essence. Ariss smelled so wonderfully delicious he wanted to consume her utterly. It was more than the simple essence of valasta, which any woman could put into a cream and place upon her person. No, her scent was something intoxicating. No perfume or potion he’d ever encountered had such a compelling effect on him.
Kerrick would have done anything to please her.
With a start, he realized that was what blossomed the scent to its full richness: pleasure. When he did things that aroused her, her scent intensified. When he did things that shocked her, the scent faded, but as her surprise gave way to bliss, her luscious essence returned even more powerful than before.
Kerrick considered the glowing ceiling crystals for a long time. He thought back over the women he’d bedded, all of them lovely and special in their own way, each of them pretty, perfumed, perfect in form and dress. Even Otana, a flame rider from Cuearcy, who wore only mannish peasant clothing as some kind of protest against the treatment of her sex. Even Otana was perfect in her garb, for it suited her. Besides, Otana only wore the style of the great unwashed. Her peasant clothing was fashioned of expensive fabrics and doused with even more expensive perfume. At best, he would call her mode of dress a costume, but Kerrick could not imagine her in anything else but billowy pants and a tight-fitting blouse. Still, not one of his many conquests had ever ensnared him with a scent, manufactured or natural. Ariss was unique in that sense.
Moreover, her secret wish was to live in the galbol tree forest. She had confessed to him as if she thought he would burst into laughter and mock her endlessly. He found it a sweet dream that would probably never happen. But her confessing the truth to him was telling of her character.
Another thought occurred to him, something darker and more disturbing. If his paratanist gave him drinks and oils to effect some change in his person, such as endless hardness or the deadening of sensations, could she not also do something to him that would make Ariss’ scent more compelling?
Kerrick had never heard of such a thing, but who knew what secrets those at the palace held? By the prophecy, he must mate with Ariss, so why wouldn’t they do something to him to ensure his compliance?
An ironic laugh escaped him then, for they needn’t have bothered. One look at Ariss and he was ready to mate with her. Cold gray eyes or no, she was devastatingly beautiful. From her slender limbs, to her silky hair, to the curve of her high cheekbones, he didn’t think any man would need much inducement to take a tumble in the sheets with such a lovely bit of female pulchritude.
He sighed and dropped his hand to his belly. Below his palm, his stomach rumbled in protest. Too much time had elapsed since his last meal. Not that he’d call what they’d served him in the training rooms a meal. Kerrick wouldn’t have fed such dreck to his worst enemy. Undercooked vegetables, meat of questionable origin, and no spices at all wasn’t food so much as it was slop to feed the mass of men. It certainly didn’t help that they turned the glop out into one long trench in the center of the tables. Still, Kerrick had taken his portion of the best of the worst, then stood back watching the others fight over the remains.
Frowning, he wondered why, in a place of riches like the palace, they would allow those who trained to serve them in the highest ritual to suffer such indignity. Surely, they could afford to feed the potential Harvesters decent food. Undoubtedly, there was some reason for such degradation. Perhaps the act of fighting for nourishment allowed only the strong to flourish. Not that his complaint would change anything. Kerrick had a feeling that here, time moved at a different pace. Palace inhabitants had riches and technology that far surpassed the outer regions, but they still clung to ancient rites and rituals that he would call anachronistic.
The other worlds he traveled to that were rich with technology proudly displayed it. Some worlds were still a bit backward but even on those worlds, they had modern amenities for wealthy travelers. Only here, on Diola, was technology hidden, as if it were shameful. Kerrick’s father kept his fleet of space-ferries well away from the population in Cheon. Far on the outskirts, where only the duskdogs played, had Kerrick been able to hide himself away on a ship to make a name for himself somewhere other than Diola. Two days after he’d undergone his Harvest ritual, Kerrick left Diola. Ten seasons later, he’d returned.
Movement caught his eye. His paratanist glided into view and bowed. It seemed to be what she did to get him to ask her a question, for she couldn’t speak unless spoken to. Idly, he wondered how long she would stand there, quietly waiting, but he decided it was cruel to torment one
bound to serve him. He had quickly grown annoyed of her speak-only-when-spoken-to rule because he worried that if he didn’t ask her the proper question, he might miss something important.
In deference to that, he asked a simple, “Yes?”
“I will lead you back to your rooms.”
Apparently, he’d overstayed his welcome. “I don’t suppose I get to cover myself?”
“There is nothing for you to wear,” she said simply, her head bowed within the covering of her beige robe.
Kerrick ran his hand over the silken sheets but decided against taking them. He didn’t want to violate some obscure protocol by hiding himself from view. Hopefully, the hallways would now be empty. As soon as he stepped from the mating room, he realized there were even more people crowded into the wide hall. Poor Ariss. What had it been like for her to dart between the thick rows of thrill-seeking elite?
Kerrick didn’t mind the attention at all. In fact, he purposely performed stunts and competed in dangerous sports for notoriety, although not while he was naked. When he’d asked Ariss if she’d ever heard of him, he was genuinely curious, for many had. However, he should have remembered that without any kind of media technology on Diola, even those in the palace would have no clue about anything outside their little world. Ariss couldn’t have heard of him, for there was only word of mouth here and he’d never performed any of his feats on planet Diola.
Well, bedding all eight of the Grandier daughters had been quite a feat, but he seriously doubted his father, or their father for that matter, had bragged about his accomplishment, especially when it meant he’d gone to his Harvest ritual anything but a virgin, and so had two of the Grandier daughters.
Kerrick considered the people lining his path, eating up his nude body with their hungry eyes. If this was all they had to get adventure from, they had sad lives, indeed. They should try the deadly game of velto on Isela Five. Forty men clad in fabric uniforms with minimal padding chased a bladed disk across a large circle of ice. The only protection they had from the spinning puck of death was their metal sticks. Kerrick had almost lost two fingers from miscalculating the path of not only the puck, but of one of his teammates. As soon as he’d taken his share of winnings, he’d fixed his fingers and moved on.
It seemed he was always moving on.
The farther away from the mating room he got, the more the thick crowd of people began to thin. His paratanist kept her small, even steps slow and he began to wonder if this parading through the populace was part of the ritual. He wouldn’t have minded so much but for the fact he was bald, flaccid, and utterly exhausted. This display had been much more fun when he was hard and primed. At the moment, he just wanted to get somewhere private.
A long time later, they reached a set of massive Onic doors. A carved pattern swirled in the grain of the wood, but he hardly had time to consider as his paratanist ushered him within.
“Now this is more like it.”
Simple in design with sparse furniture, the massive main room was all black, burnt umber, and rich browns. A bathing unit of polished Onic tile and warming crystals took up the entire north wall. Golden lighting crystals lined the ceiling, giving the room a beautiful glow. While he stood taking it all in, his paratanist moved to the bathing unit. She activated the warming crystals, set the water jets to the correct temperature, and then motioned him near.
Kerrick had never allowed another to bathe him, but if such were part of his position, he had little choice. Gingerly, he stepped below the spray and instantly felt his tension slipping away. Hot water pounded along his body. His paratanist didn’t even push up her sleeves; she simply grabbed a bar of soap and began smoothing it all over his body, heedless of how water splashed on her robe. Her hands were small and delicate, which made him feel massive, and a little uncomfortable.
“How old are you?” He couldn’t bear the thought of a child having such intimacy with him. Of course, he hadn’t thought enough to ask earlier when she’d been cleansing and anointing his penis for the Harvest.
“I am twenty-three seasons.”
A sigh of relief escaped him when he realized she was only five seasons younger than he was.
“How long have you been a paratanist?”
“Since birth.”
She answered as she always did, with a matter-of-fact tone and an utter lack of interest in why he asked. Kerrick waited a moment, thinking she would fill the silence with an outpouring of information, but unlike most women, she remained steadfastly silent. She truly only spoke when spoken to. Worse, she remained completely emotionless while doing so. This was not only odd, but also made reading her in the conventional sense impossible.
The only time he’d sensed any emotion in her voice was when she’d spoken of him mating with Ariss. She’d not seemed to like that idea. Her tone had sounded contemptuous that he would find satisfaction with Ariss rather than by her hand. He wondered why she would care, then thought that maybe she simply wanted to masturbate him to see what it was like. He didn’t know a whole lot about her station, but from what he’d gathered, she had spent her entire life shrouded in her robe and learning about the Harvest prophecy. Serving the Harvester was the highest honor a paratanist could obtain.
“Do you have a name?” he asked as he leaned down so she could wash his head.
She hesitated for so long he doubted she would answer, but finally, in a somewhat stunned voice, she said, “I am called Fana.”
“Fana. It’s pretty.” He wondered then what lay hidden behind her flowing robe with the enormous hood.
“It’s a name.”
It was clear there would be no point in flirting with her, as she took everything he asked or said literally. “Do you know what a kerrick is?”
“That is you, is it not?”
He sighed. “Yeah, as far as I know. I just heard someone say it might be something else.” Ariss had left before he’d been able to press her for an answer. And damn it all to the nothingness, but he really wanted to know what she thought a kerrick was. All his life he thought his name was in tribute to his greatgrandfather, but since he’d never met the man, Kerrick had no idea who or what he’d been named after. Although, he couldn’t imagine his father or his mother giving him a ridiculous name, not unless they didn’t know it was ridiculous. Maybe Ariss was only teasing him and there really wasn’t another meaning to his name at all. Besides, it wasn’t as if her name wasn’t a little funny: Ariss sounded exactly like heiress, and fitting for someone with her haughty demeanor.
Kerrick shook the water off his head and wished he could fling that perplexing woman out of his thoughts as easily. It wasn’t without regret, though, that he tried to forget about her. She was intriguing to say the least. Sadly, they would have only that one time together. He hoped she had enjoyed herself, even if some of what he did shocked her.
Fana took her time washing him, but not with any kind of lustful intent. As far as he could tell, she simply performed her functions. Fana soaped his cock with the same clinical movements as she had during the Harvest. If she did stroke him to climax, she would probably make the same mechanical movements, and he couldn’t imagine how that would stimulate him to orgasm. He didn’t get hard. His prick felt so raw and drained he feared he’d never become aroused again.
Once Fana finished with him, she rinsed him, dried him, slathered him in oil, and then handed him a black loincloth that he slung around his hips. The slinky astle fabric felt wonderfully soft against the pain of his abused genitals.
Next, she addressed his rumbling belly. While he sat at the head of a long wooden table, she brought platter after platter of seared meats, puffy breads, and vegetables smothered in rich sauces.
Now here was a meal fit for a Harvester! Even on Tapring, after he’d won the orph challenge, they hadn’t managed a feast as grand as this. So much food crowded the area around his plate he didn’t know where to start. Rather than put the food on his plate, he ate directly from the platters. Kerrick stuffed himse
lf until he thought he would burst.
When he yawned hugely, Fana drew him to his bed. The last thing he remembered was flopping into the black bedclothes face-first.
Kerrick woke in an unfamiliar bed to even more unfamiliar surroundings. It took a moment for him to remember he was in the Harvester suite. He sighed and stretched his hands over his head, then immediately drew them down to his genitals. Pain unlike any he’d ever known throbbed in his balls and along his shaft. Gingerly, he removed his loincloth to find his skin raw, red, and slightly inflamed. If he didn’t know better, he’d be in panic that some virulent disease had infested his crotch. But he knew this was from all the rubbing, oiling, and thrusting of the Harvest, not to mention what he’d done with Ariss.
Annoyed that she was almost the first thought in his mind, Kerrick swore that would be the last thought he’d give her today or any other. His encounter with her would be his last, and now he could turn his attention to the multitude of women within the palace walls. Of course, he’d have to wait for his crotch to recover before he made any amorous liaisons. Still, that would be the best way to ingratiate himself within the power structure of the elite. As he’d confirmed last night, they were a lusty bunch. Providing them with pleasure could assure him many votes when he pushed to become the magistrate.
As Kerrick limped gingerly to the basin and took an even more gingerly pee, he considered his painfully abused genitals with a sigh. How had the other Harvesters dealt with this sad aftereffect? He didn’t think he would suffer any permanent damage; however, the next few days were going to be unpleasant, to say the least.
[The Onic Empire 03] - Sinful Harvest Page 5