Gryffin Strain: His Female

by Madison Hayes

  His heart rate was going through the roof, she noted, an instant before she was distracted by the persistent movement at the top of her cleft.

  “Oh Jarrk,” she whispered, “what are you doing to me?”

  Both his hands still gripped the cheeks of her bottom; she knew it wasn’t one of his fingers that intruded into her cleft. Staring at the small, fringed scales on his chest, she realized they lifted with each heartbeat. With sudden intuition, she looked down between their bodies to find the crescents that swept down into his groin committed to the same the action. Every fringed scale at chest and groin lifted and fell with his increased heart rate. The smooth curved tips stroked into her wet lips while Jarrk pulsed hard and fast inside her.

  The persistent stroking continued, as the scales lifted higher and moved faster. Inevitably, several scales made real headway. Intruding between her lips, they fingered into every wet, pink rut and crevice that stretched between her vagina and her clitoris. Throwing back her head, she waited, perfectly still, as the sweet feathered touches approached then retreated from her sensitive trigger. She held onto herself, willing her sex to remain open until that touch reached her clitoris.

  “Oh no,” she whispered. “Oh no.” Several scaled touches scraped across her clitoris in relentless sequence and her cunt quaked, then triggered.

  Jarrk’s erection gave a huge surge that stretched into her savagely then allowed her vagina to close on his dick. His cock jump-started her cunt into orgasm. At the same time, his blunt tip expanded hard against her cervix. Her eyes widened as she stared into his. “Jarrk,” she screamed. “Jarrk! Hold me.”

  His eyes lit and he smiled ruthlessly just before she started to come on him. “Now,” he whispered and lowered his smiling mouth to hers.

  With her wet lips on his mouth and her hot, wet sex opening for his cock, Jarrk held himself motionless to appreciate every twinge of his coming release. Her cunt had a leveraged hold on him that racked his dick forward with unyielding pressure. The unfamiliar sensation yanked hard on his sex, resulting in brutal, excruciating pleasure. Jarrk stopped smiling as Chiarra’s cunt shuddered along its length and played him tortuously close to the edge. The tip of his cock expanded in warning. His hands, filmed with his own weeping poison, moved to grip her hips, and he forced her down on his dick.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Jarrk gasped as soft and wet hugged and sucked then opened again to let him surge to fill her even wider. He felt his blunt head thicken, stretch wide and full inside her, felt—with satisfaction—his tip hard against her cervix. Heard her scream as her body wrenched against his in a wild cataclysm the likes of which he’d never experienced. He fought to hold her on him, hold his shaft deep inside her climaxing cunt.

  There was a roar in his ears and he realized it was his own voice. He cried out in triumphant defeat as her body racked his cock out to the point of absolution and her climax impelled his seed from the depths of his scrotum into violent ejaculation, as her cunt continued to suck on him for a complete eternity.

  “Don’t stop. Don’t stop,” he rasped harshly, as he continued to orgasm long past normal bounds of male ejaculation, or at least what Chiarra considered normal for human males.

  His forehead was damp against hers when he finally finished. “Grat should have killed me,” he whispered.

  Chiarra watched his eyelids come down.

  “I’d have killed him, if I’d known about this.” Without warning, he crumpled to his knees, taking the girl down with him. His eyes fought to remain open as his hard fingers clutched at her narrow flanks and he sank his nails into her. “Chiarra!” he groaned in sudden panic. “Don’t leave.”

  Still coupled, Chiarra lay beside him, for the instant stunned. “I’d have killed him, if I’d known about this.” Her prophetic visions were being fulfilled—in no particular order—in a way she could never have anticipated or interpreted.

  She could see the future. She just couldn’t see what was coming.

  Snuggling into Jarrk, Chiarra clenched her muscles to squeeze the slackened length that stretched inside her. But Jarrk was completely still. Her ear was against his chest and she listened to his heart’s erratic drumming. The man was entirely asleep. Completely, helplessly, asleep. She shook his shoulder but this did nothing to disrupt his smooth, even breathing. “Jarrk?”

  Uneasy, she cast her eyes around her.

  Chapter Twelve

  He knew, before he opened his eyes, she was gone. She should have been warm against his side. Empty dread coiled and tightened the length of his spine as he scrambled to his feet and started toward the chasm. Abruptly, he halted, staring at the ground. What he saw at his feet put cutting terror in his soul. Fear was an icy trickle the length of his backbone as he searched the ground, established the trend and direction of the huge spurred tracks.

  Grat.

  Turning on his spur, Jarrk hurtled into the forest.

  The clearing was mobbed with his people, as some sort of council meeting appeared to be underway. Cursing the delay that forced his detour, Jarrk skirted the crowd’s edge on his way to Grat’s lodge.

  “She’s a murderer.”

  Jarrk stopped at the sound of the human accent, turned his eyes to the clearing then punched through the crowd and into the clearing.

  He stepped into the circle.

  Grat stood behind Chiarra, pinioning her arms at her back.

  “Get your hands off my female,” Jarrk commanded in a low snarl.

  Grat turned to find the silver Gryffin, ridge up, fists bunched, barbs out in warning.

  “Hey Jarrk. See you finally got your ridge up.”

  Jarrk struck without further warning. His open palm sent Chiarra flying as he cleared the path to Grat. His closed fist rammed hard into Grat’s abdomen. As Grat doubled, Jarrk brought his knee up to crush his face at the same time both elbows cracked down on the back of his skull. Grat collapsed at his feet.

  Spinning, he searched for Chiarra. He found her struggling in the grasp of two human men, at the edge of the crowd. He took a step toward her.

  Tranth held him back with a thick arm.

  “She’s my female,” Jarrk scraped out as he struggled against the gate of an arm that held him. “I’ll kill the man that touches her.”

  The two men that held Chiarra took one look at Jarrk’s face and released the girl with a forward shove and a step backward.

  “Jarrk!” Tranth struggled to restrain his friend. “You can’t fight all of them.” Tranth got his large hands on Jarrk’s shoulders. “The Gryffin Council has gathered to hear the humans’ complaint against the girl. If she’s guilty of criminal offense in her country, the council must turn her over to these representatives of her government.” As Tranth emphasized the significance of these last words, he caught and held Jarrk’s eyes. “You can’t save her if you’re dead or wounded,” he hissed.

  Jarrk stared angrily at his friend then at the humans behind him. His heart dropped. Two of the humans wore the uniform of the Yellow Guard, representatives of the Benign Dictator who, from all accounts, wasn’t benign in the least.

  Slipping his friend a parting look of caution, Tranth turned toward the uniforms. “You have proof of the girl’s guilt?”

  Casually, one of the uniforms waved a paper at Tranth. “Eleven witnesses are generally considered sufficient proof where I come from. The murder took place on a public street.”

  Jarrk shot Chiarra a stunned look.

  Chiarra held his eyes, while Tranth took the paper and handed it to a Council Elder.

  “It was self-defense,” Jarrk insisted, without taking his eyes from his female.

  The uniform laughed and shook his head. “It was broad daylight, in the middle of the street, with eleven witnesses. It was murder.”

  Jarrk looked at Chiarra. He didn’t ask the question.

  “I killed a man,” she told him. “Crossbow,” she explained. “It turned out he was an important man.”

  S
omething like pain or disappointment filled his expression. “Why?”

  “He was kicking—”

  “He was kicking an animal,” the uniform interjected.

  “To the death,” she gritted between clenched teeth.

  But Jarrk had already turned his back to her.

  “I only meant to stop the man. His death was an accident.”

  Jarrk pushed his way out of the clearing.

  * * * * *

  The men hadn’t ridden two hours before they stopped. But Chiarra wasn’t surprised. She’d been expecting it, as often as the yellow uniforms glanced back at her. It had been a heart-cramping two hours, filled with the image of Jarrk.

  Jarrk’s face, full of stunned disappointment.

  Jarrk’s back, as he turned and strode from the clearing.

  Just as her vision had predicted, Grat had come for her. Dragged her from the edge of the chasm, and back to the village for the hearing. Only she couldn’t have known what the portent meant. Grat wasn’t the real threat—the humans were.

  The soldiers left her tied to her saddle as they broke down their mounts.

  Immediately, one of the uniforms put the sentries out. All eight of them—before setting up tents or even starting a fire. “Fifty paces out,” he ordered tersely and sent the men off in pairs. Several of them glowered their way into the trees. The uniform turned and raped her with his eyes, never raising them higher than her chest.

  Chiarra shivered as her heart drummed a warning.

  The second uniform cut a willow branch. It moaned as he whipped it into a stinging song. Pulling his knife, he began to strip the bark from it. He grinned at his friend. “String her up, Bork.”

  With a nod, Bork pulled a rope from his kit and, standing beneath a spreading oak, tossed a length into the air. The rope came down on the other side of a thick limb and he tugged on both ends to test it then put his whole weight on it. With a grunt of approval, he took one end to tie off around the tree’s trunk. His eyes were on her legs as he yanked hard on the final knot.

  Moving quickly toward her, he cut her legs free and, with a fist in the rope that held her wrists, dragged her from her horse.

  She landed on her knees, hard.

  Jerking her to her feet, the man turned her, grabbed all her hair in a knot and twisted it until tears pricked her eyes. With a fist in her hair, he shoved her toward the tree.

  Kicking backward with her heel, Chiarra caught him hard on the shin. In the instant his hand loosened, she spun as she brought her locked fists around to connect with his chin.

  He almost broke her neck when his hand ratcheted to lock its hold on her hair. He almost broke her neck again when he backhanded her across the face.

  The world went black for several moments then was filled up with pointy sparks of light. By that time, she hung—twisting—at the rope’s end. As the rope bit into her wrists, she struggled to rearrange her weight so the ties wouldn’t cut so badly.

  The man was breathing in jerks, his eyes dark and shiny, and hard as mean black stones. He stared at her crotch. “Hurry up with that switch, Slicer.”

  “Shut up and get her clothes off,” Slicer returned.

  There was a harsh tearing sound as a rough hand caught the front of her jerkin and yanked downward. She felt the remains of her jerkin slide down her back as Bork sliced at the ties on her wrap and tore the small skirt from her hips.

  Stepping away, he watched her body as she twisted slowly.

  Painfully, she lifted her head and watched him rub the front of his ties while his tongue licked out of his mouth.

  “You going to be much longer?” Bork demanded. “I’m ready to drill a hole right out of these leggings.”

  She heard the switch sing through the air.

  “Same deal as last time?” Slicer suggested.

  Bork rubbed himself again, harder. “Yeah. You got something to mark her with?”

  “Here.” Two abrasive hands gripped her hips as Slicer turned her.

  She felt Bork press something greasy against her right buttock.

  “Not there! Higher. At the small of her back.”

  “I want it here.” Bork clutched her ass selfishly.

  “Put it higher. She’ll scream more. Take my word on it.”

  “What! You’re an expert now?”

  The greasy touch moved higher and Chiarra groaned as the men marked an X at the small of her back.

  “First to bring blood at the mark wins two gold,” Slicer reminded his friend.

  Chiarra shuddered.

  “First scream gets the first fuck,” Bork further clarified.

  Chiarra looked at the two men. She didn’t like either option.

  “You got a coin?” Bork demanded.

  “Heads or tails?”

  “Tails.”

  “You always take tails,” Slicer complained.

  “I like tails.” Bork leered at Chiarra’s ass. “You always toss the coin.

  “Shit,” Bork cursed, staring at the ground.

  “Never mind, Bork. I’ll soften her up for you,” Slicer offered, as Chiarra circled slowly to face the two men.

  She tried to shake the cobwebs that clung to her brain, tried focus on the men, but they wavered a bit. She tried to think of some brave, defiant comeback. Realized—late—she should at least have spat at the bastards. She’d done that much for Jarrk.

  Jarrk.

  “Give her a bit of a spin for me, Bork. I like a moving target.”

  “Get on with it, man. I’m about to shoot in my leggings.”

  “Why don’t you yank it off? You’ll have plenty of time to get it up again while I’m fucking her.”

  “While you’re fucking her? I’ll be the one fucking her, Slicer. And you’ll be the one yanking his dick. She’s not going to scream at the first stroke!

  “And then…it’s my turn,” Bork delivered with hopeful optimism.

  “They always scream for me,” Slicer said, pityingly. “You see, Bork, it’s not how hard you hit, it’s how you lay it on. Tell you what, Bork. One time deal only. You can fuck her in the ass while I violate the rest of her.”

  “Get on with it, then, you sadist!”

  The world went by in a blur of stripes. Chiarra ground her teeth as her muscles tensed in terrified anticipation.

  The world slowed a bit.

  “Don’t say a word.” A gentle hand cupped one of her breasts as Jarrk took her weight on his chest. His hands raced over her body, every inch of her body, searching for injury before he reached up to cut her down. She collapsed into his arms. “Shhh. You’re all right. You’re alright, Chiarra. Don’t cry, love.”

  Two yellow uniforms were sprawled awkwardly on the ground. A long, red knife dripped in Jarrk’s hand.

  “Can you stand for me, Chiarra? That’s it, darling. There’s a brave girl.” Stooping, he pulled the Guards’ weapons and dragged the blades through the dead men’s clothing, staining the steel red. He closed the men’s hands around their own hilts, arranged the bodies then grinned up at her from a crouch. “How’s that look?”

  Shaking her head, she wiped her eyes, feeling very gray and woozy. “Like they killed each other?”

  He nodded.

  “What about the others?”

  He shook his head. “The sentries are widely spaced—I was able to slip between them. But we have to get moving. Are you up to it?”

  She nodded, though she leaned a bit. She watched him grow before her as he rose to his feet, and she leaned into him, leaned into his strength. “I…didn’t know…you were coming.”

  He pulled her away enough to stare his disbelief at her.

  “I thought you were angry. That I’d killed—”

  He put a finger on her lips. “If you killed a man, I imagine he deserved it,” he said, as he scanned the edges of the clearing. “Did any of the others touch you?” he asked in a voice like gravel and ice.

  She shook her head into his chest. “You stopped them before—”

/>   “That’s not what I asked. Did any of them touch you?”

  Realizing his deadly intent, she raised her eyes to his, shook her head quickly.

  He took her face in his shaking hands and kissed her with all the gentle restraint he could muster. When she clung to the kiss, he was forced to cut it short. Swiping her ruined clothing off the ground, he scooped her up and, with the silence of a shadow, blended into the forest.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jarrk groaned as he felt Chiarra’s hand wrap around his aching dick. She was more work than all his other eight females put together. And more arousing. And more tempting. It was frustrating. After finally finding the female that could satisfy him—all on her own—he didn’t dare let her mount him, couldn’t chance his own release. Couldn’t risk sleep.

  The Yellow Guards—and their murder—was only two days behind them. The next unit? Two hours? Two minutes? He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t afford to be asleep for twenty minutes. Not that kind of sleep. The kind of sleep where you wouldn’t wake if lightning struck you in the ass.

  “Chiarra,” he complained. “Don’t make me want you.” A second hand insinuated itself between his legs and groped at his balls. He removed the hand quickly. Held it to his lips as his eyes burned into hers. “It’s not safe,” he told her.

  She pressed her body to his side and smudged herself against him. “Please Jarrk. I’ll watch while you sleep.”

  “And that won’t do a bit of good. If someone comes, you won’t be able to wake me.”

  “But Jarrk.”

  “Don’t argue.” It was just as well he’d discovered alternate ways to satisfy her. Humans were so extraordinarily diverse! Sexually diverse. Pushing her onto her back into the cushioning grass, he moved a hand between her legs.

  “I need more this time, Jarrk. I need you inside me.”

  His answer was a growl of pure male hunger.