Chapter 50: Volume 1- [ - 51 ]
She sat up. I turned her around, placing her back against the tree, her legs spread. I pushed her dress up. Spread her ass cheeks.
“It is hard to fuck this when we reach the palace,” I said, my thumb pressing against her anal, the tight ring of muscle clenching at the contact. “But you deserve a punishment. You cannot even tear a monster.”
“NO — LORD — PLEASE — NOT THERE — IT WILL HURT—”
“FORGIVE MY SISTER!” Sera cried from the bedroll, her face tear-streaked, her hand reaching toward us.
I slapped her boob. The sound cracked through the clearing, and Sera yelped, her hand flying to her chest, her eyes wide.
“Sit up,” I said to Sera. She did. I grabbed her hair. Pulled her face to mine. Kissed her — deep, hard, my tongue invading her mouth, swallowing her whimper. Then I turned her around. Spread her ass.
And slammed my cock into her anal.
“AAAAAAANGH—!!”
The scream tore through the night. Sera’s entire body convulsed — her back arching, her hands clawing the tree bark, her anal clenching around my cock with a force that bordered on painful. She was tighter than last night — the tissue swollen from the night’s exertions, the muscle fighting the intrusion with every fiber.
“HAAANGH — IT HURTS — IT HURTS — LORD — PLEASE — NOT — SO—”
I fucked her. One hour. The rhythm was slow but unrelenting — deep strokes that pulled out to the head and drove back to the hilt, each thrust a claim, a punishment, a reminder. Sera cried the entire time, her tears falling onto the roots of the tree, her body trembling with each impact.
PAH! PAH! PAH! PHACK!
Lira watched. Curled on the bedroll, her arms around her knees, her eyes wide, her internal voice a stream of horror and reluctant, guilty arousal:
‘His cock — in her — in that place — the place where — it looks like it hurts — she is screaming — but her body — her body is moving with him — she is pushing back — is she — does it feel — does it—’
I pulled out of Sera. My cock was coated — brown, slick, the evidence of her body’s reluctant participation. I turned to Lira.
“Suck it.”
Her eyes widened. ‘It was — in her — in that place — and he wants me to — my mouth—’
“Lira.” Sera’s voice was hoarse, broken, barely a whisper. “Do what he says.”
Lira crawled forward. Her mouth opened. Her tongue touched the head — and the taste hit her, complex and overwhelming, the flavor of her sister’s ass mixed with the salt of his cock, and her internal voice dissolved into a single, wordless note of shock that was immediately replaced by something darker — something that tasted like surrender.
She sucked. Her tears fell. Her mouth moved up and down, her lips pulling, her throat swallowing. I held her hair and fucked her face, and the sounds — glck, glck, glck — filled the clearing.
I came in her mouth. Thick, hot, flooding her tongue, overflowing, the excess spilling from her lips and dripping onto her dress. She swallowed — instinctively, reflexively — and coughed, her eyes rolling, her hands finding my thighs for support.
I pulled both women into a hug. They came willingly, their bodies pressing against mine, their tears soaking into my shirt. I kneaded their asses — one hand on each, my fingers sinking into the soft flesh, pulling them closer, their hips pressed against mine.
My cock was limp. Finally, mercifully, after eight hours of Viagra, the chemical was wearing off. I could feel the exhaustion in my groin — the ache of overuse, the soreness of tissue that had been engorged for too long.
‘Stamina,’ I thought, holding two crying women against my chest. ‘I really need that stamina skill. Two women are too many for one man without enhancements.’
I pulled their ass cheeks tighter — gripping, spreading, my fingers finding the clefts and the tight rings and the wetness between their legs. They cried out — a matched pair of muffled sounds against my chest.
Then I let them go. Lay them down on the bedroll. Covered them with the blanket. And leaned against the tree, closing my eyes.
Sleep came. Shallow, dreamless, the sleep of a man who had burned through his reserves and was running on fumes.
Morning arrived with the sun and a mouth on my cock.
I opened my eyes. Sera was between my legs, her hips raised in the air, her mouth wrapped around my morning erection, her head bobbing in slow, rhythmic motions. Her eyes met mine — and the look in them was not fear. It was devotion. The raw, terrifying devotion of a woman who had been broken and rebuilt and did not know she had been rebuilt by her own destroyer.
“What are you doing?” I said, and my voice was rough with sleep.
Her eyes widened. She pulled off — her lips leaving the head with a soft, wet sound, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to my cock before breaking. She sat back on her heels, her hands in her lap, her head bowed.
“I — I wanted to serve you,” she whispered. “For disappointing you yesterday. I — I could not cut the wolf. I could not fight. I am useless. But I can — I can do this. I can serve you this way. Please — let me—’
I smirked. Reached down. Rubbed her ass through the thin dress — the curve of it, the warmth of it, the way her body leaned into my hand like a flower toward the sun.
She was trained. Well trained. The night of fucking, the punishment, the cores, the anal — it had broken something in her that would not be rebuilt. The wall between ‘I am doing this because I have to’ and ‘I am doing this because I want to’ had dissolved entirely, and what remained was a woman who genuinely, desperately, needed to serve.
“Where is the other?” I asked.
Sera looked up. “She is hunting.”
My eyes narrowed. “Hunting.”
“She said — she said she would prove herself. That she would bring back a rabbit or — or something. She took the knife and went into the trees. I tried to stop her, but she—’
“Shit.” I stood. Grabbed the towel from beside the bedroll. Wrapped it around my waist. “That idiot.”
I moved. Fast — through the clearing, past the pond, into the trees. Sera followed, her bare feet slapping the ground, her breathing ragged. The forest was thin here — birch and pine, the undergrowth sparse, the morning light filtering through the canopy in pale green shafts.
I heard the scream before I saw them.
Lira’s voice — high, raw, the sound of a woman in pain. Not the controlled screams of last night, not the moans and the begs and the performed suffering. This was real. This was the sound of a body being torn.
I broke through the tree line and stopped.
Lira was on the ground. A wolf — the sixth, the one I had let escape, the one I should have killed — was on her leg. Its jaws were clamped around her thigh, and it was pulling — tearing — the muscles ripping, the skin splitting, blood pouring from the wound in a dark, arterial flood. Lira was screaming, her hands beating at the wolf’s head, her face white, her eyes rolled back.
“SISTER!”