Wicked Empress:The Onic Empire, Book 4

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “What happened?” Viltori asked.

  “I am not privy to the details.” Rown made a face that suggested not letting him know everything was a foolish mistake on everyone’s part. “But he didn’t climax in full view.”

  Viltori thought back as to what a punishment that might entail but drew a blank. He had no idea. “What did he do?”

  Grinning, Rown said, “He plunged into her from behind, as he should, then pulled out, spun her around, picked her up and slammed her down onto his cock!”

  Viltori could actually see Drahka doing that. He found the visual unbearably arousing, especially when he pictured the surprised and yet pleased look on Bithia’s face. For he believed she craved an aggressive male who behaved just like that. Bithia was not a woman wooed by poetry and lukewarm kisses. She was a woman who hungered for brute strength and the most wicked of words.

  “Once he had her against his chest, he swept her from the room.” Rown sighed, as if he would enjoy finding someone who would take him away in such a dramatic fashion. “Her bondmate sounds like a passionate man.”

  “He is.” Viltori had never met a man more serious about sex. Every time they discussed what he needed to do with Bithia, Drahka grew hard and restless. Unable to sit still, Viltori had taken to teaching him while they walked about the gardens in great, ground eating strides. Of course, what made matters worse was that Viltori became aroused as well. So much so that Drahka had noticed his cock tenting the fabric of his immaculate white robe. Their eyes met and Viltori swore he saw an echoing hunger right before Drahka had sent his hand flying at Viltori’s face. Capturing his fist, Viltori had pushed Drahka to the ground. Stunned, he’d looked up, and the moment had been broken. After that, Viltori used a small pointing stick rather than his hand. Still, there had been a welcoming arousal in Drahka’s eyes. Of that, Viltori had no doubt. However, engaging the consort of the empress in such a way had terrible repercussions for them both. No matter how lustful his dreams or painful his longings, Viltori kept his desire firmly contained. He had no wish to be exiled or killed.

  “As if you would know passion.” Rown rolled his eyes playfully. He strode to the uppermost step, grabbed the bottle of soap and proceeded to smear the liquid over his hairless chest, his arms and his legs. “Ambo waddled after them, but the man was practically running down the hall with Bithia in his arms.” Rown paused. “Can you imagine what that would feel like? Wrapped around his massive chest with his cock buried deep inside? Every step would just plunge the man deeper.”

  Viltori couldn’t quite see that scenario, not when he was almost as big as Drahka himself, but he could see Drahka in numerous positions. Himself in numerous positions. Of course, Viltori always saw Bithia there too. He wanted them both. Shaking the images from his mind, Viltori glanced over at Rown.

  With a meaningful lift of sleek brows, Rown grabbed a handful of hard cock and stroked the soap up and down. For a relatively small man, Rown had a big prick. His penis stood proudly up and out from a thatch of dark hair. Each stroke of his hand hardened him further. One thing about the ungati was their notorious self-control. Rown could stand there and fondle himself all day without climaxing.

  “Tease,” Viltori growled. Below the water, he hardened in response. Unlike Rown, he was not trained in self-denial. At night, in the great sleeping room filled with acolytes, none of them dared to touch themselves. The vast rock-walled room echoed even the slightest sound. Worse, they slept upon cots that squeaked at the barest movement. Ears were ever-vigilant to any fumbling in the dark. Viltori missed the room where the recruits slept. There, at night, beds squeaked, men moaned, and nobody cared. At times, some men turned to each other for comfort, which held no stigma. Though the handlers frowned upon such activity, they turned a blind eye as long as it was mutual.

  “I’m just washing myself,” Rown said with mock innocence.

  Usually Viltori could handle the teasing nature of their banter, but today he was having a difficult time. He hadn’t had an orgasm in several cycles. It seemed everything excited him lately, almost as if he were again an adolescent without a shred of control. Every look, every thought, every feeling hardened Viltori’s cock until it became like a perpetual rock between his thighs.

  Rown licked his lips when he saw what lurked below the water between Viltori’s hairy legs. Even though the hair on his head was light blond, his body hair was dark brown. He’d been told it made a delightful contrast, as if he were innocent day above and sinful night below.

  “I could wash you too,” Rown whispered.

  Viltori would like nothing better. Rown would know just how hard to touch, how fast or slow to go to give him the greatest moment of satisfaction. With lips, teeth and tongue Rown could have him begging for more within moments. Toss the man’s educated hands into the deal and Viltori would become his willing slave.

  However, if anyone caught them…

  Stepping down into the water, Rown rinsed himself, then swam near to Viltori. Darting his gaze carefully about, Rown tossed a hank of black hair off his forehead with a flick of his head. “There is none here but us.” Cupping one hand around Viltori’s shaft, Rown stroked him with slow, almost lazy movements as his black hair slid slowly down his face, obscuring his gaze. “It’s early yet and we have time.”

  Viltori wanted to say no.

  Viltori tried to say no.

  Cursing those already cast to the nothingness, Viltori shut his mouth and didn’t utter so much as a murmur of protest when his friend stroked his cock.

  Rown’s hand felt so good and the whispered words he breathed into his ear were so wicked that Viltori’s voice literally stuck in his throat. Lacking any will to struggle, Viltori surrendered. With a push here and a shove there, Rown guided Viltori to a higher step so that his aching cock thrust out of the water. With one quick look around, Rown smiled up at him and took his entire length into his mouth.

  Biting his bottom lip to hold back a cry of pleasure, Viltori clung to the step, holding himself just at the waterline so Rown could lift and lower his hips, moving his cock in and out of his mouth. Bobbing his body in the water, Rown worked his prick leisurely. Stars exploded in his vision as he climaxed. Rown sucked hard until Viltori was utterly drained, then released him.

  “Poor denied acolyte.” Chuckling, Rown took his hands off Viltori’s hips, lowering him into the water, which felt freezing cold after the intense heat of Rown’s mouth. “You are pleasured so rarely, you go off so quickly.”

  When a group of female servants entered, babbling excitedly about the empress and her new consort, Viltori had no chance for a comeback. They didn’t even glance over at him and Rown because they were far too focused on sorting and cleaning their owner’s clothing as they gossiped. Gossamer curtains shielded Viltori and Rown from the women on the other side of the tishiary.

  “Perhaps next time you will last longer.” Rown exited the pool, his still-hard cock bouncing with each step. Playfully shaking his erection free of water, Rown slipped on his plain brown robe, then cinched it closed with a black sash. Black because he was, after all, the property of a mighty Harvester. The color of a servant’s sash indicated the rank of his master or mistress. All servants wore brown robes. Each was individual only by the color of his or her sash. Among the servants, Rown was unique. His black sash was trimmed in crimson, indicating his mistress was once an empress. Rown belonged to two of the most powerful citizens on Diola and yet he was not a conceited fool. Rown was a considerate young man dedicated to his god and his master. Rown did not violate his personal, professional, or proscribed rules by sucking Viltori’s cock to a spectacular climax. Rown actually lived up to the very spirit of his caste. Ungati gave pleasure. Rown lived to give pleasure unto those he would willingly serve. That Rown chose to give pleasure to Viltori was a beautiful gift, but a gift Viltori could not return. No matter what, Viltori could not reciprocate a climax to Rown. Ungati climaxed only by their own hand and only for their god.

  As
he walked away, Viltori wondered what his master, Sterlave, would do if he found out Rown was giving away his favors. Would he care? He didn’t think Sterlave would punish Rown, because the man was kind. Still, Viltori thought it wise to keep their liaison a secret. Not that he had anyone he could tell. Sighing, Viltori replayed the encounter in his mind, then deliberately smiled as he silently thanked Rown for his generous present.

  Tension that had lurked in his shoulders for cycles was gone. The ache in his balls receded. After a quick dunk, he rose out of the water and dried himself with a rough towel. Now he felt he could face another day of temple rites and if by chance his student came for instructions, Viltori might just be able to keep his mind on his work and off the spectacular bulge in Drahka’s pants.

  Chapter Four

  “I wish to meet this teacher of yours.” Bithia considered her consort over the string of covered platters that lined the table. She’d already filled her plate twice and probably would do so again. Never had she woken so ravenous.

  “Viltori?” He’d barely touched what little food he put on his plate. Mostly he sat in studied silence, his gaze downcast, his shoulders slumped.

  “If that is his name.” She wished to know exactly what this fool had taught her bondmate. Whoever heard of a woman lying utterly passive while a man rammed his cock into her? She could understand such a scenario if he’d bound her, and that could be fun, but she wouldn’t tolerate a lifetime of passivity. A strange custom, to be sure, but this teacher, this Viltori, should have taken more time to educate her consort about the wide range of erotic delights available on Diola. At least she’d gotten him to allow her to take him into her mouth. She’d sensed he’d wanted to tell her to stop, but the pleasure had been too great. Sadly, afterwards, he hadn’t been able to meet her gaze. They’d gone to bed with him on the far side, on his back, his gaze riveted on the snow-covered glass ceiling.

  She still felt she’d made progress with him, but they had a very long way to go. Having him suckle her breasts and letting her take his cock into her mouth was just the smallest of the things she wished to do with him. If this teacher wouldn’t help her educate him fully, she’d have the man sent far from the palace. She just might do so anyway. Her greatest fear was that Viltori had deliberately misled her consort to mock her. She would not tolerate such insolence. Perhaps she would have him bound. A hundred hard palace guards pounding away at his upturned bottom would convince him of his foolishness. Picturing the scene caused her cunt to grow slick. She did so enjoy watching men together. They were more aggressive than women were, which was in and of itself arousing. Also, men fought harder for their climax and took what they wanted with a lusty greed she identified with.

  “We will see him after we eat.” Bithia summoned two guards and gave them explicit instructions. They bowed and left to do her bidding.

  Her bondmate watched them go with a frown. “You hurt Viltori?”

  “He will come to me, not I to him. I am the empress. Something that seems to be forgotten far too often lately.” She had never awakened quite so famished or so furious. Usually she woke with a smile on her face as thoughts of seduction filled her mind. This day was all grumbling annoyance at having to fix a problem she should not have. Given her way, she would have called in those two palace guards, thrown off her crimson robe, and fucked and sucked her way into oblivion. Instead, she would spend the day in tedious instructions.

  Picking at his food, her bondmate finally pushed the plate away and met her gaze. “You no like me.” White shards spiraled around the black of his pupil, hypnotizing her with his terrible sadness and unbearable shame. “I will die.”

  “Not this again.” Bithia rolled her eyes, trying desperately to distance herself from the raw emotions he displayed. His face remained stoic, but his eyes said more than words ever could. How could he convey so much with his gaze alone? “I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to train you.” After she spoke, she realized how cold she sounded. Softening her tone, she said, “I need Viltori to help me teach you our ways.” Although that wasn’t quite true. She wanted to teach him her ways. She wanted to teach him what she liked, what she didn’t, not that there were very many things she didn’t like, other than total passivity. To her, sex was a lavish banquet, and she wanted to sample every dish. Once she found a favorite, she would gorge herself to the fullest, then return to sampling until she found a new favorite. She never tired of her endless pursuit of pleasure.

  “If I do not do what you…” He paused, searching for the words, but he didn’t have to bother. She knew what he was trying to say. He wanted to know if he didn’t do what she wanted, would she kill him then?

  Bithia wanted to shake him until he understood that she would never do that. Just what kind of a planet did he come from? That thought stopped her cold. Of course, he didn’t know she would never hurt him. He believed if he displeased her, even a little bit, she would simply kill him. What kind of a deal had Ambo struck with his people to bring him to Diola? Her shoulders slumped. And just what kind of a selfish bitch was she for not recognizing his agonizing position earlier.

  Lifting her hand, she said, “Stop.”

  He closed his mouth abruptly, but at least this time he didn’t drop his gaze.

  “I would never hurt you. You are my chosen.” She smiled at him, deliberately softening her voice and her face to convey the truth of her words. “I wish for you to learn, for me to learn.” After a pause, she added, “We will work together to be together.”

  Cocking his head to the side, he considered her down the long length of table. “You will learn too?” Harsh lines that darkened his brow lightened with this new idea.

  Nodding eagerly, Bithia placed a forkful of seared aket into her mouth and chewed vigorously. “We will learn.”

  He didn’t smile, exactly, but the twin corners of his perfect lips lifted fractionally. What heartened her soul was that he followed suit. Stuffing a big bite of meat into his mouth, he chomped as if he would now willingly eat to keep himself alive to learn. Finally, she’d convinced him he wasn’t doomed to die for displeasing her.

  Again, a small step, but she felt they were making progress. Chewing thoughtfully, she now watched him eat with the same ravenous gusto as she. Good. He would need his strength to keep up with the instructions she wished to give.

  Gods help this Viltori if he dared to thwart her plans.

  Chapter Five

  When Drahka entered, his gaze immediately fell on Viltori. His teacher stood wide-eyed in the center of a lavish room filled with puffy furniture, deep green plants and seemingly hundreds of mirrors. Every step Drahka took echoed his form back at him from a different angle, jarring his perception. He wondered if they were purposely placed to make anyone unfamiliar with the room feel unbalanced. He considered Bithia, who strode inside without issue, and thought she had deliberately chosen this place to meet his teacher.

  Dressed in white, Viltori stood out in the mostly crimson room. Blond hair gleamed under golden lights as he nervously clenched and unclenched his brows. Worry ate up all the usual joy that filled his face. When they entered, Viltori’s eyes widened at Bithia, but his panicked expression lessened on a sigh when he saw Drahka. Dark brows smoothed over brown eyes.

  “Drahka, my student,” Viltori said, using Drahka’s native tongue.

  “My teacher.” Drahka reached out to clasp Viltori’s shoulder, as was the custom of his people, but Bithia intercepted him, pushing him back with the palm of her hand to his chest. The red robe her servants had dressed him in bunched below her hand and left a moist spot of heat when she withdrew. As much as Drahka wanted to push her back, he let her have her way, as she was the ruler of this planet. Any move Drahka made that angered her might hurt the teacher who had only tried to help. Drahka would rather die than hurt a man who had never done him wrong.

  “You taught him?” Bithia demanded, striding toward Viltori as she pointed back at Drahka. Her voice was pitched high and hard, only the
cushy furniture and fur rugs softened her harsh tone. Clad in a decorative crimson robe, Bithia consumed the massive space with her mighty presence. If she were not his chosen, Bithia would have terrified Drahka. Still, even though she was his, he held a deep respect for her power, her strength, and the fact that she knew exactly what she wanted. And what she wanted right now was an explanation for his failure.

  Eyes going even wider, Viltori nodded. “Have I displeased you?” Viltori bowed low before Bithia. “Forgive me, my lady, as I did my best.”

  Drahka understood what each of them said. Bithia was upset that Drahka didn’t give the right way and Viltori was sorry he hadn’t taught Drahka better. Furious that they were talking about him as if he were not present, Drahka couldn’t summon the power to speak. Diolan and the words of his tribe jumbled up together in a confusing mix. Whenever he was agitated, he seemed to lose his ability to speak clearly in either language. Unbalanced by the room, terrified for his teacher, he found his mounting panic only compounded his turmoil. If he could speak, he’d defend Viltori, for he had tried to show him the ways of those on Diola, but Drahka had held so strongly to the true way, the way of the Oughun, that he’d not listened to Viltori. Only now did Drahka realize his refusal might result in the punishment of an innocent man.

  Bithia glared at the bowing Viltori, her voice rising and falling in pitch and fury. Murmuring softly back, Viltori didn’t answer so much as he offered apologies. He must have the same fear Drahka did, that any displeasure of Bithia would result in death.

  “Stop!” Drahka called. Finally, he was able to pull the Diolan word out of the swirl of phrases in his mind.

  Crimson robe furling around her legs, Bithia spun in his direction. Fire filled her mismatched eyes, making him again wonder how sometimes they were the same color and other times not. Berating himself for letting his mind wander, he took a calming breath before he spoke.