by John Ringo
"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 Cardane."
"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 Cardane 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 stove-top 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 Cardane thing ever since it started. What happens in the Cardane is legal grounds for murder in a 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.
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 Cardane 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 I 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."
"Kildar," Gretchen said then sighed. "Your damned books. Others have read them at this point so we realize that our mysteries are not so mysterious."
"It is always the Kildar," Mike said, wonderingly. "And the Kildar is always a foreigner; that's part of the definition. A foreign warrior. Probably a good one. A woman's mystery. Heh. I bet any 'Kildars' that didn't measure up didn't last long, yes?"
; "Please," Gretchen said, frowning.
"God damn," Mike said, grinning. "That prize bull that Father Makanee asked me to import. Out of stock from America. It was expensive as hell but Genadi agreed that it was important. The local stock was too inbred."
Gretchen was now looking at the floor, her hands clenched in front of her.
"I'd wondered how come the first three girls I lay with all came up pregnant, apparently by me," Mike said, wonderingly. "It's because they were 'put to stud' when they were at the most likely point to catch. I'm the Keldara's damned prize bull, aren't I? And all the Kildars before me. Age upon age, century upon century, the best soldiers of each generation, adding to the pool... You people have been breeding yourselves as warriors for centuries!"
"And they have to be good looking," Gretchen said, sighing. "Pure of form and... unill. That is, they cannot be of bad blood. What is now called genetic illnesses. If they are, the Keldara avoid breeding with them or if they cannot the women kill them, usually with poison, or the children are aborted. The Mothers know of ways to do both. I only found out when I was presented with the Rite."
"Son of a bitch," Mike said, shaking his head. "I just don't know what to say."
"Nothing," Gretchen said, looking up pleadingly. "Please. You will say nothing. If the Mothers find out that I said as much as I have..."
"Oh, your mysteries are safe with me," Mike said, grinning. "But if I'm to be the local stud stallion, will you squeal like a mare being bred for me?"
"Oh, Kildar," Gretchen said, laughing in relief. She slid over into his arms and tucked her face into his neck. "I will do that if you wish. But what I'd really like... I have been a very bad girl. Could you spank me? But not more, please?"
"Oh, I think that can be arranged," Mike said, burying his face in her hair. She'd clearly been stressed, he could smell it on her. But she also had put on a perfume, something like apples. It was just begging for a bite. "But now I wonder if my pattern for this thing is a good idea..."
"You mean this?" Gretchen said, sliding off the couch and getting on her knees. She ran her hand across the g-string and started to undo it. "So far, so good. Let's not break tradition."
His member was fully engorged when she pulled the g-string down. Between the anticipation, the frustration and, hell, the tits, he was about as ready to burst as he'd been in years.
Anastasia gave good classes but he wondered where Gretchen had been practicing. She ran her tongue down his dick just once then slid her mouth over it and began to fellate him. And, damn, she was good.
The girl had to have been practicing. You didn't get suction like that naturally; the jaw and mouth muscles weren't normally exercised that way. But she had purely unreal suction and immediately fell into a slow rhythm of up and down stroking, thumb and finger laced around his dick just right, no teeth, just lips, going in time with the mouth, slowly speeding up...
Mike normally had pretty good control but this time he couldn't help it; he came in her mouth so hard some of the cum must have squirted all the way down her throat.
Gretchen choked, slightly, but kept sucking, getting every drop. Then she pulled back, swallowed and ran her hand, lightly, down under his balls.
"Is that what you were worried about, Kildar?" she asked, smiling. "Did that take the edge off?"
"What were we fighting about?" Mike asked. "That was...exquisite. You are exquisite."
Gretchen had brought a refilled glass of champagne over and she took a sip, swished it around her mouth, swallowed and repeated. Then she slid up next to him, still fingering his dick and tucked back into his shoulder.
"Tell me the truth," she whispered. "Do you really like me that much?"
"Ask yourself this question," Mike said. "I know the girls talk. Did any of them get me off that fast?"
"No," Gretchen admitted in practically a purr. "Can we see if I can get you off as fast other ways?"
"What about you?" Mike asked, sliding his hand up under the dress and tickling at her nipples.
"You always worry about us," Gretchen whispered, breathing in his ear, lightly. "Now you know. We are here for us. For ourselves. I need you, now. I need you inside of me. I need you to be in me, filling me and coming in me. I want it inside of me and on me. I want to be fucked, fucked hard. I want to you fuck me and fill me and come on my beautiful breasts. Will you do that for me, Kildar?"
Mike was usually pretty good about recharge time. But that had been some sort of a record. He was stiff as a board.
Normally this was the point where he got really graceful and controlled, making sure that the girl with him either came before he did or, better, at the same time. But he was beyond thought at this point.
He reached up and tore, rather than unbuttoned, the single button that held the dress up and ripped it down, burying his face in those lovely breasts. He dragged the girl off the couch and onto the floor, pushed up the silk skirt, ripped off the lace panties and took her, hard.
And she was ready, not just moist but actively wet, and tight. God she was tight and hot. And they were perfectly sized. "Bigger is better" only goes so far. Mike wasn't Long Dong Silver but he was "upper average." Some of the Keldara girls had, Lord bless them, been a bit too small for him. Not Gretchen. As the fairytale went: Just right. Just tight enough that he knew he was filling her, fully.
The hymen ripped without notice by either of them and as he filled her she screamed, not squealing like a mare being covered but shrieked in pleasure and agony and fulfillment. Screamed like a tiger princess being taken by her striped mate.
Those beautiful long legs came up and wrapped him in yards of silk and flesh as her fingers dug into his buttocks and she pumped against him, rocking with every thrust and shrieking in joy.
Mike realized, immediately, that she wasn't just having fun, she was coming for all she was worth, one continuous orgasm that had started as soon as he filled her. Making a women really feel was his greatest desire, whether pleasure or pain. And Gretchen was unquestionably feeling, wrapped in an ecstasy of Biblical proportions. He turned his brain off, gloriously, for once in sex, just turned it off and pounded as hard as he could. No coy games, no positions or different strokes, no who pleases who, just lost himself in glorious skin and hair and smell and that exalted rapture of every sense filled to overflowing...
Chapter Seven
"Caravanserai Kildar... No, I'm sorry, Colonel, the Kildar is unavailable... Colonel, sir, I recognize that, but he really is very very unavailable... For some times, sir... Sir, I absolutely cannot do that, the Kildar's orders are very specific in this regard... Yes, sir, as a matter of fact that is the only person that he said could be put through..."
* * *
"Caravanserai Kildar... Say again?... Yes!... Yes, sir... Immediately, sir. Yes, Colonel Pierson made that plain but... I must warn you, sir... Yes, sir..."
* * *
Mike opened his eyes at the dawn light, looking at the girl, no the woman, by his side. She was lying with her beautiful blonde head on his shoulder an arm and a leg thrown over him possessively.
Both were naked, their clothes scattered across the entire suite. A pair of chaps dangled from the bar. The lovely dress, somewhat the worse for wear, lay on the floor by the door. A single stocking was across one of the sconces on the wall. A white shoe was at the head of the bed.
A quart container of chocolate mousse was on the floor of the kitchen in the middle of one hell of a mess. More marks of mousse led a winding trail, via the bar, the couch and the floor in several places to the bathroom.
Mike was, frankly, afraid to look in the bathroom.
He could move pretty easily which was odd. When he lay in one position for very long he tended to stiffen up, badly. Then he looked at the clock and realized he'd been asleep for maybe thirty minutes.