by T. S. Ryder
"What?"
Maskin rose a brow, but Bjorn only grinned at Cheryl. He snatched the ruined dress off the floor and tore it into three strips. The human watched with wide eyes, not understanding what he meant. Even so, seeing the predatory gleam in his eye only excited her more.
Bjorn tossed one strip of cloth to Maskin. "Blindfold her."
The warrior narrowed his eyes. He looked at Cheryl. "Do you want this?"
"What exactly?"
"We are going to blindfold you and tie your hands to the headboard," Bjorn said. "And then take our pleasure with you while you're helpless to our passion."
The idea hit Cheryl harder than she expected. It felt like her skin was on fire and she nodded eagerly, unable to breathe, her arousal was already so high. "Yes! Yes, I want that!"
"The queen has spoken."
Maskin looped the strip of fabric around her eyes, shutting out everything. Cheryl giggled as Bjorn tied her hands individually to the slates of the headboard. Both retreated for a moment, murmuring to one another. The human strained her ears to hear what they were saying, but she couldn't make it out. She bounced in excitement.
The temple acolyte's warning that she does not expect too much from her first time having sex came back to her. Cheryl dismissed it. She was already enjoying the experience. Nothing could change that, could it?
Their hands came to her body at the same time. Cheryl shivered feeling her skin tighten where they touched. Both hands were calloused, both hands huge. She moaned when they moved in sync, one hand from each of them fondling her breast while the other moved to her thighs, parting them. She couldn't tell who was who. The sensation was even more heightened than it had been near the lake.
All her muscles relaxed as their hands ghosted over her body. It was like the massages the acolytes would often give her, only these fingers lingered and probed in places the acolytes' mechanical, cold touch never drifted near.
The bed sagged as they both laid down next to her. Cheryl heard a jar being unstopped, and then a cool liquid dribbled on her lower stomach. She jumped.
"That's cold." She sniffed. "Rosewood oil?"
"You recognize the scent?"
"It's often used in fertility rites."
Twin chuckles answered her. The oil continued to pour onto her skin, making its way up between her breasts before going back down. The men got to work at once, massaging it into her skin. One set of hands brought it between her legs, the other turning her on her side to work it into her ass.
Cheryl shivered and groaned as the tightness already inside her twisted pleasantly. It was so good she almost couldn't take it. She clamped her thighs shut, but as soon as she did so, two hard hands grasped her leg and pulled it up. She yanked at the restraints holding her hands in place, crying out as a finger slid into her from either side.
She turned her head, biting her own arm to keep from telling them to stop. It felt so good she didn't want it to stop. At the same time, it was so overwhelming that she wasn't sure if she would survive it. She panted for breath as everything was concentrated in her core, the fire so hot she was sure she was going to burn her two men.
"Please," she begged.
"I think she's ready," Maskin's husky voice said from somewhere at the end of the bed.
"She is a lovely sight, isn't she?" Bjorn chuckled. "Look at that delicate flush in her neck. Have you ever seen anything more erotic?"
"Stop talking!" Cheryl thrashed her head back. "Please, I need you."
They both chuckled, their voices rich and deep like the dark of the night. Cheryl moaned in delight, not sure she would survive if they delayed much longer. Her hammering heart felt like it was about to burst. Her lungs seized as both pressed against her from either side. They pushed in together, her leg still held up high in the air until her thigh burned. The human cried out, the feeling of them entering her together painful… but so, so good.
"Don't stop," she panted as they paused. "Don't stop!"
Twin moans surrounded her. Tears flooded Cheryl's eyes as they continued, filling her until she thought she was about to split in half. She fought against her restraints, sobbing because she didn't know what else to do. Two hands stroked her hair, two lips kissed her shoulders and neck. Neither stopped until they were both inside. It hurt more than Cheryl had expected–but felt so much better than anything she had imagined.
They started moving in an alternating rhythm. Whatever pain there was drowned in the floods of pleasure that ripped through her, filling her with an almost violent, throbbing need. Her ears were full of the sounds of her two men grunting and groaning in pleasure. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, her own cries mingling in the air.
One of them gave her ass a sharp slap. Everything exploded inside her. Her body writhed every which way, her legs kicking out. They held her tightly as she rode out her completion. First one and then the other followed her. They lay together for a long time, all three of them panting.
"That was amazing," Cheryl said. She wiggled her body between the two men, trying to figure out who was who. "You can untie me now."
Both men withdrew.
"Where are you going?"
"We're not going anywhere, Lapis Lazuli," Bjorn said, his voice soft and tender. There were sounds of them moving, the bed dipping anew as they climbed back on. "We're staying until you're screaming our names."
Cheryl didn't think she could take any more, but her protests died in her throat as they both entered again. The pain and pleasure were both there again, but the human bit her tongue to keep from screaming–she wasn't going to give them a reason to leave. Not now. Not ever.
This was what she wanted. Two kings working in harmony. And she would have it. Somehow.
Chapter Six: Maskin
Bjorn's hands ran down Cheryl's back. During the two weeks since he and Bjorn finally seduced her for the first time, they had been splitting their days between keeping her company and sharing her bed at night. The prince clutched at the queen's dress as though he wanted to rip it off. Maskin didn't blame him. It was difficult spending time with the sweet, beautiful human and not want to enjoy her pleasures.
Make that impossible. What was hard was not giving into the desire to make love to her, no matter the situation and setting.
The warrior-slave smirked as he watched Cheryl's head fall back, her blonde hair twisting in curls, as Bjorn moved to her neck. It was the prince's go-to move, Maskin had discovered. Kissing at the sensitive place right at the human's jawline. It always elicited a throaty moan from the beautiful queen.
Maskin had expected to feel more possessive of her. He hadn't thought that watching Bjorn kiss her passionately like he was at the moment would have his loins stirring. There was something incredibly arousing about it.
Probably because of her obvious enjoyment. It had nothing to do with Bjorn, and everything to do with Cheryl, and the little noises she made and the flush in her cheeks and the way her starry blue eyes rolled with pleasure.
Because of Cheryl's enjoyment, not because of Bjorn. It had nothing to do with Bjorn.
The warrior-slave strode over to the other two, so engrossed in each other that it wasn't until he pulled Cheryl out of Bjorn's grasp that they even noticed he was there. The human wrapped her arms around his neck, beaming, but the prince scowled.
"You get to spend time with her tomorrow. Today is my turn."
"I'm going to the ship, to check communications. I won't be back until nightfall," Maskin told Cheryl.
Her lower lip pushed out in a pout. "I was hoping that the three of us could go swimming in the lake."
"I can take you swimming," Bjorn said.
"Not the way I was hoping."
Maskin laughed as his loins tightened. From the darkening of Bjorn's eyes, he was feeling the same.
She was so receptive to everything, half the time Maskin didn't know how to handle her. As she was growing bolder and expressing her desires more and more, it only became clearer that he was
out of his depth with a woman like her. But if he was going to drown, drowning in Cheryl was the best way to do it.
"We can go swimming tonight," he promised. "We'll take a few sunrods so that you don't get too cold."
He kissed her lightly and returned her to Bjorn's arms. Their ship was outside the grounds of the shrine, a four-hour hike up steep mountain trails.
His position was more than just a low-ranking warrior-slave, after all. He commanded a ship, and even though he was stuck on this moon, it didn't mean he could simply forget about the defense of the Demante system. There were plenty of species out there that would gladly invade the rich resources of the outer planets or attack Thoutle itself. It was his duty to keep abreast of the information and ensure that his men were up to date on the possible threats they faced.
Still, leaving Cheryl with Bjorn–leaving her at all–was a difficult thing to do. Hopefully, the reports he would have to listen to would only take a few hours… then, if he ran back to the Shrine, he'd return in time to tear off Cheryl's clothes and throw her into the lake before dark.
***
His lungs burned, legs pumping as he charged down the purple-paved path, grateful that he had elected to stop wearing his heavy armor–he would have had to leave it behind on the ship anyway. He needed to get back to the pavilions as fast as he could.
If he wasn't too late.
Maskin didn't bother checking Bjorn's cabin. The sun was low in the southern sky, indicating it was mid-afternoon. Cheryl always slept at this time of day, and Bjorn would not have left her side.
He burst into Cheryl's cabin. As expected, the human and the prince were lying on the bed, fully clothed, although from the way Cheryl's clothes were disheveled, Bjorn had 'helped her to relax' before she took her nap. The prince started at Maskin's entrance. The queen cried out as the warrior-slave scooped her out of the bed, jostling her awake.
"What are you doing?" Bjorn demanded.
Maskin thrust Cheryl into his arm. "Put your armor on her."
"What?"
"Our ship was sabotaged. Communications and navigation both destroyed. There is somebody on this moon that is after us. Your nanite armor can protect her." Maskin palmed one of the prince's knives and ran back to the door. His chest was heaving from the strenuous run and sweat glistened on his brow. Nothing moving was in sight. He cursed. "I should have checked the ship every day. This is my fault."
"What is? What do you mean, somebody is after us?" Cheryl's voice was pitched with fear.
"The armor is ceremonial," Bjorn said, joining Maskin at the door. They kept Cheryl behind them, their bodies blocking any potential attacks. "Effective against bladed weapons, but not blasters and the like."
"It's forbidden to bring blasters to the shrine," Cheryl babbled. "It's against all the sacred rules—"
"We don't know who sabotaged our ship and why" Maskin interrupted. "We don't know if they're Temadian. It could be that they are another species, trying to kill you to destroy our government. It could be that they're here to ensure that neither Bjorn or I are able to impregnate you. We don't know."
Cheryl clung to his arm, her eyes wide, her face ashen. The ruby-red armor of Bjorn's nanites made her skin look all the paler and her hair all the more golden. If the situation wasn't so dire, Maskin would have suggested that they tie her up and pretend that she was an enemy soldier that they were interrogating–Cheryl liked playing that game, especially when he would 'torture' her until Bjorn would suggest alternative means to make her talk.
But now was not the time for sex fantasies.
Maskin turned to Bjorn. "Do you have any other weapons?"
"Two swords. I expected to be forced to challenge you to death outside the Shrine. They're in my cabin. And your armor?"
"My cabin. Weapons first." He considered for a moment and shook his head. "There's an ancient communication center on the other side of the mountains. If we can get there, then we can call for help. The armor is too heavy for long-distance speed. We leave it behind."
Bjorn nodded and turned to Cheryl. "We'll carry you when we can, but you have to be strong."
"She is strong," Maskin growled. "The strongest woman I have ever known."
Cheryl was still pale, but at his words, a determined look came over her face. Now wasn't the time to tell her that she was one of the few women he had ever met. She would be stronger if she believed herself strong.
They made it to Bjorn's cabin and retrieved his weapons without incident. They headed off at once, moving around the Shrine to a back path that was indicated on the map on Cheryl's holoreader. It would take longer, but hopefully, it would buy them some time.
Darkness fell, and they continued, Bjorn and Maskin taking turns carrying Cheryl when she was too tired to walk anymore.
"I need rest," Bjorn said halfway through the night. He sat, head sagging. "I was not genetically programmed for this like you were."
Maskin nodded. He peered into the surrounding trees but in this darkness, even he couldn't see what lay beyond them. He let the prince rest, standing on guard himself. Nothing was going to hurt Bjorn and Cheryl. Nothing and no one.
He would die before he let that happen.
Chapter Seven: Cheryl
Cheryl yawned as she stumbled along the path. Her legs ached and her feet felt like two blocks of blistered wood. The light was cresting the horizon. At least they would have light to travel by. The dead of night had been so dark that she hadn't been able to see the forms of the two men walking with her.
"How much further?" she asked, trying not to show how bone-weary she was. She wasn't sure that she would be able to take another step but somehow kept her legs still moving.
"We'll get there by noon," Bjorn said.
Maskin grabbed her arm and shoved her to the ground. Cheryl cried out as the rough stones tore her palms. But before she was even down, a dozen warriors leaped from the surrounding bushes. They moved silently like shadows, but the swords that gleamed in their hands were all too solid. Cheryl screamed as the nearest one stabbed at Maskin. He deflected the blow with his own sword, putting his dagger to the attacker's throat. His feet were planted firmly as he fought off the attackers.
On her other side, Bjorn danced and leaped like a flame. His movements were so quick, she could hardly tell where his arms ended and his sword and dagger started. The warriors that crowded him soon found themselves with gashes over their eyes or in their throats.
Together the two men stood over her, trusting one another to hold their backs. Cheryl curled into a ball, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. Twice she saw an open space and threw rocks at their attackers, but the defense of her men was so tight that she saw very little but them.
The warriors suddenly broke off their attack and fled back into the trees. Bjorn growled and took a step to follow, but Maskin grabbed his shoulder.
"They are trying to lure us away from Cheryl."
"Are they trying to steal her or kill her?"
Maskin shook his head. His body was still tense, eyes scanning the tree line. "I couldn't tell. But they were lying in wait for us."
Cheryl's heart was in her throat as she scrambled to her feet and shivered, glancing around. "They guessed that we were coming this way? So we have to go the other way?"
"No, my Lapis Lazuli." Maskin put an arm around her. "If this path is guarded, then the other one will be as well."
"Unless they weren't laying in wait at all," Bjorn argued. "If they were merely checking if we were coming this way, we can still reach the communications bunker before they can move their soldiers to block our path."
The prince took a step down the path.
Maskin grabbed him again. "If they were looking for us on this path, that means they know where we are headed. If our quarry is smart enough to check all possible routes to the bunker, they will have it heavily guarded. We won't be able to make it."
"Can we fix communications on the ship?"
"No."
But what if they died protecting her? How could she be queen without her kings?
"I don't want to be queen if I can't have you," she blurted out, looking between them. "Both of you. You were both chosen by the Gods to be king, I don't care what Quincy said, you are both my kings!"
Bjorn kissed her forehead. "Hush. You don't have to choose between us."
"But—"
"We can worry about being kings after we leave the Shrine alive," Maskin said grimly. "If we can't call for help, then we will have to wait until help comes to us."
Bjorn glanced over his shoulder. "If we are going to wait, then we need a place to hide. An acolyte kitchen is a place we can fortify. We have to get back to the heart of the shrine unless we can fly the ship without navigation."
Maskin gave him an annoyed look. "Can you fill a cup that has a hole drilled through the bottom? Carry her. We'll go through the forest. The path is too dangerous."
The trees were so thick that Cheryl didn't know how Maskin and Bjorn found a way to move through them, but they did. Maskin led, sword strapped to his back, dagger in hand. They moved quickly, and far more quietly than Cheryl had expected. They ran into no more enemies as they made their way back to the heart of the Shrine.
Once there, Maskin retrieved his armor and they made their way to the acolyte kitchen. The acolytes themselves seemed to have disappeared. Cheryl shivered as they entered the kitchen. What could have happened to them?
Every open space was boarded over and fortified, except for a single slot by the door where Maskin stood watch. Bjorn found some food and urged Cheryl to eat, but her stomach churned too much to swallow anything down.