Chapter 15: Volume 1- [ - 16 ]
The voice came from the darkness beyond the candle’s reach. Martha’s head snapped toward it — and found Caelum, standing at the foot of the bed, his towel still wrapped around his waist, his amber eyes reflecting the candlelight like a cat watching a mouse hole.
"While you were unconscious. I rubbed oil into every inch of your skin. A blend my mother used." He paused. "It has certain properties. It makes the body... receptive. Aware. Every nerve singing, every touch amplified." His head tilted. "Can you feel it?"
She could. Gods, she could. The sheet beneath her was a landscape of sensation — every thread distinct against her back, her thighs, her calves. The shift over her breasts was a web of electric threads, the fabric shifting against her nipples with each breath in a way that made her stomach clench. Between her legs, a low, pulsing heat had settled into the flesh like a coal that would not go out, throbbing with each heartbeat, growing wetter by the moment.
’He — he touched me while I was — he oiled my entire body — every inch — my — between my — oh gods, I can feel it there, I can feel everything—’
"Please," she whispered. "Whatever you are going to do — please — I have done nothing — I am innocent — the knight—"
"I told you not to lie to me." His voice was soft. Almost sad. "I told you what the cost would be."
He moved around the bed, his footsteps unhurried, and sat on the edge of the mattress beside her. The bed dipped under his weight, and the shift in the surface sent a cascade of sensation through Martha’s hypersensitive body — a ripple of contact that made her gasp, her back arching involuntarily before she could stop it.
"Look at me," Caelum said.
She looked. His amber eyes were close, very close, and in them she saw no madness, no rage, no madness at all. She saw patience. She saw the steady, assessing gaze of a man who had already decided what was going to happen and was simply allowing the scene to play out at the pace that suited him.
He reached for her shift and pulled.
The thin fabric tore as easily as her uniform had — a single, firm yank that split it from neckline to hem, exposing her body in one motion. Martha cried out, her hands flying to cover herself, but the oil on her skin made everything worse — her own palms against her breasts sent shockwaves of sensation through her chest, and she pulled them away as though burned, leaving herself bare and exposed and trembling.
Her body was exactly as he had catalogued it before — thick, generous, the body of a woman who had eaten well and worked hard and carried the evidence of both in every soft curve and heavy fold. Her breasts lay massive against her chest, each one spreading wide under its own weight, the pink nipples wide and soft, darkening as they tightened in the cool air. Her belly was round and soft, not flat but not grotesque — the belly of a woman built for comfort. Her hips were broad, her thighs thick, and between them, covered in a dark growth of hair, the swollen outer lips of her sex glistened faintly in the candlelight.
Not with oil. With something else.
’Why am I wet? Why — the oil — it must be the oil making me — I would never — I am not—’
"You are trembling," Caelum observed. He placed a hand on her knee. The contact — skin on oil-saturated skin — sent a bolt of electricity up her thigh that made her whole body jerk. "I am not going to hurt you, Martha. I am going to teach you."
"Teach me — what—"
"What happens to people who try to rob me."
He pushed her knees apart. She resisted — briefly, uselessly, her thighs clenching together with a determination that lasted approximately two seconds before his hands slid between them and the oil-slick skin offered no friction whatsoever, her legs falling open as though they had been unlocked.
He knelt between her thighs. Looked down at her — at the hairy, glistening pussy that lay open before him, the plump outer lips parted to reveal the flushed pink inner flesh, the pearl at the top swollen and prominent, the entrance below clenching and unclenching in a rhythm she could not control.
"Please stop, master," she whispered, and the word ’master’ came out broken and wet, trailing tears.
But her eyes — her eyes had drifted from his face to the towel around his waist, where the fabric was being pushed outward, tented, lifted by something beneath it that was thick and heavy and growing harder by the second. Her internal voice stuttered:
’Too big. I saw it in the bath. It is too big. I will not be able to — it will not — I cannot take something that—’
Caelum unwrapped the towel.
His cock fell free — ten inches, thick as a gourd, the shaft arching upward in a curve that ended in the fat crimson head, already glistening at the tip. In the candlelight it cast a shadow across Martha’s body that stretched from her thighs to her face, a dark line that seemed to emphasize its absurd, impossible proportions.
He lifted it with one hand and brought it down across her face.
The slap was wet, heavy, the sound of meat meeting skin, and Martha’s eyes flew open, her head turning with the impact, a pink welt rising on her cheek where the broad head had connected.
’My face — he hit my face with his — it is so heavy — it weighs on my skin like—’
"You need to be punished," Caelum said, and his voice had shifted — no longer soft, no longer sad, but hard and flat and final. "Or I will kill you. Those are your options. Choose."
’He cannot — he would not — but the knight — the knight is dead — he killed the knight — he would kill me — he would—’
"I — please —" Her voice was a wreck. "Please, master. Please do not kill me. I will do anything. Anything."
He placed the head of his cock against her entrance. The heat of it — the broad, blunt pressure against her swollen, oil-slick folds — made Martha’s entire body seize, her back arching, her breath catching in her throat.
"Anything," he repeated. "Good."
And he slammed forward.
The sound Martha made was not a scream. It was beyond screaming — a raw, animal sound that tore from somewhere deeper than her throat, a sound that contained shock and fullness and a sensation of being split open that her body had no framework to process.
Her pussy — wet as it was, swollen and slick with oil and her own unwilling arousal — stretched around his girth in a way that should not have been possible, the inner walls forced apart, the outer lips pulled taut, the head driving through her tightness like a fist pushing into a glove two sizes too small.
Her tongue came out.
Her eyes went wide — wider than they had been when she saw the dead knight, wider than they had been in the bath — and her mouth formed a perfect circle of shock and fullness and something that her internal voice could not name because it had stopped forming words entirely and was simply screaming.