by John Ringo
"I really don't need my mind taken off of that, actually," Kiril said. "I'm probably more okay with the Kildar being with Gretchen than . . . anybody. Including, I know, the Kildar. I'm just saying, if you don't want to . . ."
"So thoughtful you are," Anastasia said, running her hand down his body again. "But I do want to. It has a special thrill, yes?"
"I . . . yes," Kiril replied as there was a knock on the door.
"Who in the . . ." Anastasia said, her face reflecting fury as she stood up and walked to the door of the suite. Yanking it open she was confronted by the Kildar, holding an obviously embarrassed Gretchen's hand. Gretchen was pulling at her dress front, trying to cover more skin and looking anywhere but at the two people in the room.
"Kildar?" Anastasia, in English, raising one eyebrow. "I take it the Rite is going somewhat Wrong?"
"You are one of the few people I know that can change languages just to get in a pun," Mike said, stepping past her and closing the door, which was soundproofed. "Kiril! Come here!"
"Yes, sir!" the young man said, snapping to attention and practically marching over. He, too, was trying very hard to not look at his fiancée.
"Gretchen knows where my quarters are," Mike said, putting Gretchen's hand in his. "Get to it girl," Mike added, slapping the girl on the butt.
"Kildar," Gretchen said, pleading in her eyes.
"I like rape just fine, but I don't do it," Mike said, his face hard. "You two. Upstairs. That's an order. I don't care if you do anything or not, but if Kiril misses this opportunity, he's over the line between hardcore and stupid. Nobody will know but the four of us." Mike looked at the two of them, both wide-eyed and frozen, and sighed. "You'll have to cook your own dinner."
"I don't know how to cook that!" Gretchen practically wailed. "I'd never seen a shrimp before in my life!"
"There are other ingredients," Mike said, softening. "Go."
When the two stunned youngsters were gone, Mike looked at Anastasia.
"So, doing anything this evening?" he asked.
Chapter Six
Gretchen stood, just looking around the small kitchen filled with devices she had no idea how to use, then picked up the Kildar's apron and put it on over her beautiful dress.
"So what happened?" Kiril asked, picking up the glass of champagne and sniffing at it. He took a sip and swirled it around in his mouth before swallowing. "This stuff doesn't half make your nose tickle, does it?"
"I don't know," Gretchen said, opening the unfamiliar refrigerator and looking at the contents. It was very well stocked for a spare kitchen. She looked in the freezer and recognized meat. She could probably do something with meat. Suddenly, she started crying.
"I didn't want this to happen," she said, sniffling.
"Well, it did," Kiril said, taking another sip of champagne. "Nice dress, by the way."
"It wasn't the Kildar, it was me," Gretchen said, looking over at him. "I just couldn't . . ."
"I guess I can understand that," Kiril said. "I mean, sort of. But I thought all the girls wanted the Kildar?"
"Not that you idiot!" Gretchen snapped. "It . . . I . . . It . . ." She stopped and shrugged.
"Oh," Kiril said, setting down the glass with a clink that was the only sound in the room. "So . . . You did all this because you didn't want me with Anastasia?"
"And did you want me with the Kildar?" Gretchen asked, angrily.
"Yes," Kiril answered, expecting an angry reply.
"Do you have a reason?" Gretchen said. "I do, I was just angry you were with that woman. Now . . ."
"You do?" Kiril asked, confused. "I mean, since the Kildar, okay, some of us have been thinking about our traditions, trying to pin down why they are. He started it, always asking questions, trying to understand, not just do things automatically. So some of us have been thinking about it and discussing it, quietly. And we think we've got a handle on Kardane, but . . . You already do?"
"Yes," Gretchen replied, "but that is all I can say. It is part of . . . woman's rites."
"Oh . . . shit," Kiril said, his face suddenly white. "The . . ."
"Goddess," Gretchen said, nodding. "Kiril, I must lie with the Kildar this night. But I have failed. I will be shamed if I do not. I . . ."
"Oh, damn," Kiril said, working his jaw. Guns he'd face, but not the vengeance of the Priestess. Not being able to marry Gretchen was the least of it. If she angered the Priestess, she'd almost assuredly be cast out, Kildar or no Kildar. He, too, might face the wrath. Oh, they hadn't done the full Goddess Rites in a long time, but he didn't want to be the person to break the trend. "Gretch, there's only one thing to do, then . . ."
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Mike said, lowering the whip at a knock on the door. Anastasia had indicated the need for a seriously hard whipping and for once he wasn't holding back; the whole thing with Gretchen had been incredibly frustrating. He hadn't had a date go that bad in years. And, okay, he hadn't looked forward to the Rite that much in a long time, either.
"Mff, mgh, mff?" Anastasia asked through the gag.
"How the hell should I know?"
How long were they going to wait? Oh, the hell with it.
Mike walked to the door and opened it, shielding the view of the interior, and the whip, from whoever was at the door. Technically he shouldn't have been here at all at this time. This was really going to screw things up. He wasn't sure how bad, but bad.
He snatched the door open: "Wha . . ." He paused at the sight of Gretchen and Kiril and took a deep breath. "Yes?" he said ground out as pleasantly as he could.
"Kildar, the Rite must be completed," Kiril said, holding out Gretchen's hand. "Please, Kildar, let's just . . . try to start over." He'd clearly rehearsed the words and gotten through them without really taking in what he was seeing.
Gretchen wasn't saying much, she was just blinking.
Mike had changed clothes. He was wearing a skintight black leather cuirass, a leather g-string, chaps and a spiked leather collar.
Mike was tempted to do many things, swear, burst into laughter . . . but what he did was just nod.
"I'm going to need a few minutes," he said. He looked at Gretchen and shook his head. "Gretchen, go await me upstairs. Kiril . . . front room."
"Yes, Kildar," Kiril said.
Mike shook his head and walked around to look at Anastasia.
"Think I should take the whip with me?" he asked.
Anastasia thought about it for a few seconds then nodded her head affirmatively. Very affirmatively.
"Think the kid's up to this?" Mike asked waving around at the temporary bondage scene.
Anastasia shook her head, ruefully, in the negative.
"Yeah, I agree," Mike said, frowning. "Good strong arms but then there's the safety briefing and negotiation and all that time Gretchen's waiting upstairs getting more and more nervous . . ." He grinned evilly. "Okay, here's a question. Want him to at least see you like this? That would be humiliating, right?"
Anastasia shook her head hard and Mike started to grin then stopped.
"Hell," he said, pulling the gag out of her mouth. "We're out of scene. Are you clear enough?" Serious bondage tended to get so many endorphins running in the submissive that it was very much like being drugged, one of its attractions for those who had the tendencies. For those who didn't it was simply painful.
"I'm clear," Anastasia said. "We had barely gotten started. While I would actually appreciate the humiliation, you know how I am, I don't think it would be good for him. While I'm pretty sure the Keldara are more or less aware of your interests, I think that having it thrown in his face wouldn't be good."
"Damn, for a miserable little bitch of a sub who's all tied up, you're thinking pretty clearly," Mike said.
"I thought we were out of scene?" Anastasia said.
"Your nipples still got all crinkled up, which was the point," Mike replied. "Okay, let's get you down."
Getting her down took less time than getting everything put away. But
when Anastasia started putting her clothes on, Mike stopped her.
"I'm giving you to another man this night," Mike said, roughly. "He will come in here and have his way with you. Don't bother with any of the cutie training him, he's here to take you and you will pleasure him well or you will answer to me."
"Yes, Kildar," Anastasia said, breathing hard.
"Await him on your knees," Mike said.
"Yes, Kildar."
It was the best he could do for giving her a good evening. It would have to do.
Mike left the whip behind but kept the bondage gear on. The hell with it.
Kiril popped to attention as he entered the front room, trying very hard to not look at how Mike was dressed.
"Kiril, I've got a question for you and I need a straight answer," Mike said. "Do the Keldara talk about my sexual . . . adventures?"
"Yes, Kildar," Kiril said after a long pause.
"About my interests?" he asked.
"Yes, Kildar."
"And is it clear that Anastasia shares that interest?" Mike asked. "And that I don't, normally, let it interfere in the Rite?"
"Yes, Kildar," Kiril said on surer ground. "Both. That Miss Rakovich . . . shares your interests and that you don't . . . do that sort of thing during the Kardane."
"Well, Miss Rakovich, as you put it, is very put out. She was looking forward to an evening of 'who's a bad harem girl?', given that the Rite had gone so awry, and now she doesn't get to have one. Straight question: Do you lean that way?"
"Straight answer, Kildar: No, sir. I just don't have that much interest in that sort of thing. That is not a . . ."
"I didn't take it that way," Mike said. "I've had more sexual experiences than you've had hot breakfasts. But I've got a problem. Anastasia, who needs a certain amount of being called a little bitch and a slut and a bad girl to keep her sunny disposition and incredible efficiency, is now in the position of not getting that when she expected it. So your orders, Kiril, are to get in there and do your very damned best. Don't ask her if anything is okay. If you want to do anything to her except hit her in the face or something that is clearly unsafe such as choking or, notably, gagging her, then go in there and do it. Don't ask, don't even call her by name. Just do whatever you want and call her bad names. That's interesting, isn't it?"
"Yes, Kildar," Kiril said, his eyes wide.
"Good," Mike said. "Now I have other things to do and so do you. And I promise to treat Gretchen with as much care as I possibly can. But I want this made quietly but abundantly clear. The ladies who are involved in the Rite from here on out had better know, up front, that they are going to go through with it and not panic at the last second because their boyfriend is satisfying my harem manager when I can't. In case you guys hadn't figured it out, part of the whole thing with you getting laid is that I'm with another girl and Anastasia isn't getting laid. The harem girls don't bug her. The Kardane girls bug the ever living hell out of her. So while I'm cooking, you guys had better get it through your heads that you're my stand-in. Is that clear, Keldara?"
"Clear, sir!" Kiril barked.
"Now get in there and do your best," Mike said. "I'm going to just sit here and let your future wife sweat a little longer!"
It was about thirty minutes later when Mike yanked open the bedroom door and walked in. He was still wearing the dominance outfit.
Gretchen was sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up, hands wrapped around them, looking very very nervous. She'd also, clearly, been crying.
"Starting all over is out," Mike said, walking over to the stovetop and looking at the pots and pans. "This alfredo is ruined. Just totally ruined. The shrimp is starting to look a bit off, too, and you really don't want to go eating an off shrimp . . ."
"Kildar . . ."
"I should be the adult about this," Mike continued, cutting her off and refusing to look at her. "I'm the one with all the experience. I am, in every way, the adult here. Hell, you're barely legal where I come from. But what I am is pissed. Everyone knows I've been pretty down on this whole Kardane thing ever since it started. What happens in the Kardane is legal grounds for murder in Texas. I like virgins as much as any guy. But not when they're the fiancées of people who stand behind me with guns. And I was just managing to take out my frustrations about it when I get doubly frustrated. So, tell me, Gretchen, where does that leave us?"
"Kildar, I just don't know," Gretchen said, sniffling.
"As far as I'm concerned, it means we're done for the night," Mike said, turning towards her and crossing his arms. "Because right now, if we had sex, the term would be 'grudge fuck,' meaning I'd be taking out my frustrations on you. Which is the last thing you need for your first sexual experience. So you hop in bed and try to sleep and I'll go find one of the many other rooms in this place to bunk."
"Kildar, please," Gretchen said, shaking her head. "Don't do that."
"Because it would doubly shame you?" Mike asked, shaking his own. "I had that one trotted out on me one time already. When I suggested that Lydia just spend the night up here. Doubly shamed, once for being 'with' the Kildar alone and twice for being found wanting. Right now, Gretchen, dear, I'm not sure I care. I did mention being pissed, right?"
"Kildar, please," Gretchen pleaded. "Please, for Kiril if not for me, lie with me this night. You can just take me as you wish. You can rape me as you would. You can do anything to me you wish. Beat me, strike me, take your anger out on me in any way you would care to. I deserve it. I admit it. But you must take me this night!"
Mike blinked. He knew a sub that wanted to be abused when he saw one and he knew the opposite. This girl wasn't being submissive, she was just willing to do anything to "lie with him this night."
The anger blinked off in a second as he realized he'd just stepped into ground that he didn't understand. Lovers' quarrels, those were all well and good. But this was some sort of much larger issue. Cultural, yes, assuredly. But something else, deeper and stranger. He could smell it. Like looking in a placid field and knowing it was mined.
He walked over to the couch and sat down next to the girl, far enough away to not be terribly threatening but close enough that he could really watch her reactions. And while when he arrived she had been nervous, she was now frightened. He was pretty sure that it wasn't her begging to be hit that had changed things, either. Gretchen had the full measure of the Keldara physical bravery; she'd take a punch and keep on going. And likely punch back, harder. Whatever was bothering her was something that slipped in through other doors.
"Why?" he asked, quietly.
"Kildar, I would be doubly shamed," Gretchen said.
"We covered that," Mike said. "Why? Really why."
"I cannot say," Gretchen replied. "May not say."
Keldara had the same dichotomy of meanings and Mike knew the language well enough at this point to catch it.
"You are not allowed to say," Mike stated.
"Yes."
"Okay," Mike said, nodding. "How about charades?"
"Pardon me?" Gretchen said, blinking in puzzlement.
"Uh, the Alligator game."
That was the local name for charades and while the game was old in the West, like bowling it was just catching on in the former Soviet Union.
"Wave my arms and you guess the words?" Gretchen said, finally smiling again. "No, I think that won't work, either."
"Then give me something," Mike said. "Because I'm starting to realize that I might have been screwing up all along."
"No, you have not," Gretchen said, sliding over to grab his hand. "Kildar, the way that you accomplish the Rite is a joy. I am sorry that I was so stupid. I was more than willing, am more than willing, to come to your bed. Beyond the Rite, what you have made of it is wonderful. I am sorry."
"Then give me something," Mike said, nodding. "I accept your apology fully and equally apologize for not handling things better. But I need some idea of why you're so terrified of me not taking you tonight. Anything."
; "Kildar," Gretchen said, swallowing. "I . . . Kildar, the Kardane is a Rite. It is . . . It is a Rite of our religion. It is part of our Mysteries."
"Of the Father of All," Mike said, puzzled.
"No," Gretchen said. "Kildar, I'm afraid if I say more it will be worse than if you reject me. Please, Kildar, you must not speak of this, must not ever give any idea that I spoke of it to you. Not even this much."
"Not of the Father of All," Mike said, musingly. "I'd bet not of Fir, Lord of War, either. Nor of . . . No, I'd bet Balor falls in there, somewhere . . . It's a woman's Rite."