Chapter Seven #3
She paused again, like an executioner holding their axe
high. She gazed straight through him. With her hand gripping his chin, Isaac
met her eyes, opened his mouth, tried to force something out, and only managed
a shaking, needful breath.
She dropped down on him with no easing or mercy, letting her
heavy weight drive his erection deep inside her. The blow to his pelvis nearly
knocked the wind from his lungs. She rose back up, leaving only his head
inside, and slammed down again, forcing a gasp from his throat. His vision
swam, green torchlight blurring around him. He was smothered by sensation.
There was an immense heat, a wetness, a slick friction, a tightening clench,
all of it sliding around him so fast and strong that he almost didn’t notice
her grinning at his expressions.
And, then, he was back in his bedroom, in the roof of his
uncle’s tower.
When he was barely more than a boy, he had peered through
his window on a silent night, watching students his age stumble down the
street, their voices and cheers echoing through the village. He had seen a
girl. He was not sure of her species, but her legs had been long, and her body
had curved so beautifully, and he had been pleasuring himself in the dark,
consumed with questions, wondering her name, wondering
why he couldn’t be down there with her, wondering—
Zaria smashed down, hilting him with such force that his
back arched off the floor. She ground herself against him, back and forth,
smearing and combining their fluids. With a brief shift for leverage, she began
to rise and fall at a savage pace, like a blacksmith’s anvil pounding against
the hammer. The clap of striking flesh echoed across the chapel walls.
It was obscene. It was enchanting.
It was wet and loud.
It was almost like—
The cane flew, and white hot lines of pain seared across his
back.
His muscles ached, he could barely stand, he had cast the
purifying evocation for hours, and still it was not enough. His uncle struck
again, splitting the skin, shouting instructions, belittling his efforts,
insulting everything he ever did, and still he tried, despite his anger,
despite his wants, he continued to try, and the cane continued to strike—
And she lowered herself over him, almost eclipsing the
light, a breathing blanket of muscle and leather and fur. She licked him across
the face. He barely felt the bristling fibers on her tongue because she was
still spearing herself onto him, practically beating his pelvis into the tiled
floor.
She raised her head, giving a drunken sigh of pleasure. When
she bent down to lick him again, Isaac took the opportunity to bite her tongue.
She flinched away. He spat in her face.
Zaria howled with laughter.
Half-growling, her teeth glistening green in the light, she
snapped her jaw toward his throat, wrapping his neck in a gauntlet of teeth.
The impacts of her drops and thrusts were hard enough to continually bounce his
neck against the sharpened end of her canines—on a particularly vicious plunge,
he felt his skin begin to puncture. More blood joined the dagger wound on his
neck.
But she was licking again, running the wet muscle over his
blood and sweat and dirt, and it was almost soothing, and the pressure on his
throat—
And he couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
There was a sharp knot in his throat, and he couldn’t wipe
the wetness from the old parchment, the dim candlelight flickering as he heaved
and gasped as loudly as he dared. He cried from shame, from all the feelings
and dreams he could not purge from himself, all his hopes and wants cause for
punishment and blame, but he couldn’t stop, he always wanted, he always
imagined, it was a burning need inside of him, a bright light shining through
his prison bars, and now he was weeping over his studies, trying—
Her face leered above, full of breath and scars.
With a wicked grin, she intensified the pounding, raising
the strength, doubling the frequency, every angle driving him deeper, her
insides like a hundred gripping tongues, a dull pain blurring into ecstasy with
every strike of flesh. She wanted his reaction, and he almost lost composure.
After sensing his weakness, she slowed the frequency but struck even harder,
each thrust as deliberate and vicious as the killing blow of a sword, and the
moan escaped his lips before he could stop it. The sound piqued her ears. She
began to laugh, saying—
And he lay in bed, stroking himself, imagining a woman,
someone he didn’t know, picturing the flirtations between them like characters
speaking on a page, using their example to build his own dream because he had
no other reference, no real experience of soft skin and hungry eyes.
He did not know better. No one had taught him.
He would have no chance to ever experience—
In a flash, he saw Zaria in a way he hadn’t seen anyone
before. He saw the curve of her breasts. He saw her nipples bouncing in ragged
circles. He saw the wetness between her legs, and the
wounds on her arms, and the dirt on her fur, and the clench of muscles beneath
her leather armor. Most of all, he could smell her. The animal musk on her body
had grown so thick in the air that he could almost taste it, and it felt
utterly intoxicating now, burning something basic and primal inside him.
As the pleasure of an orgasm began to build, Isaac realized
he had stopped thinking about his mission entirely.
He was going to release. It was going to be more intense
than any he had ever given himself before. Zaria saw the dawning in his eye.
Immediately, she intensified her efforts, like an orchestra reaching crescendo,
her thighs closing, her mouth nibbling his neck, her body pounding him even
harder than he had thought possible, as if she’d been saving her true strength
for when he was helpless and writhing and beyond the point of no return. The
pain and pleasure and soreness and ecstasy all swirled together, rushing with
speed.
“I’m sorry!” he yelled.
He came inside her with such raw intensity that his soul
seemed to leave his body. He almost went blind. Zaria pressed herself down on
his battered pelvis, grinding him deeper, and his cock spasmed and lurched like
a bucking horse, all his muscles contracting as he rode an overwhelming wave of
euphoria, spraying rope upon rope of cum until it felt as if every drop of
liquid had been utterly wrung from his flesh. When it was over, Isaac melted
into the tiles beneath him, his skin tingling, his chest heaving with
exhaustion and pain.
She waited above him, hands leaning on his shoulders, until
he could focus on her face again. When eye contact was made, she grinned,
raised herself up his length, and slammed her weight back down.
Isaac nearly shrieked. His cock was unbearably sensitive,
almost to the point of agony, and he tried resisting for the first time since
they started. In response, she grabbed him by the shoulder, lifted his entire
torso from the floor, and shoved his face between her breasts. Her chest fur
was soft and fluffy. His world became nothing but her.
“Almost there, love.”
She alternated between pounding and grinding, using him
purely for her own sake. The sensitivity was excruciating, and Isaac would have
yelled if his face wasn’t muffled by the valley of her breasts. When he tried
to pull away, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight, stopping him
from squirming, her claws digging into his back as her thrusts became more
erratic and needful. Finally, without a word of warning, her breath hitched,
her body shook, and she squeezed him so tightly that the breath fled from his
lungs. Her insides clenched and rolled. Her cry echoed over the chapel walls.
With a carpet of fur in his face, and all her muscles flexing around him, he
could only groan into her chest as she rode through her pleasure.
Gradually, with a dying of sound and motion, she relaxed,
her grip on his shoulder loosening more and more until he was dropped back to
the floor like a heavy sack of grain. After a few stupefied blinks, she looked
down at him, giving a sharp sigh of satisfaction. He looked away. She bent
down, gripped his head, and held his face perfectly still
while she dragged her tongue laboriously across his cheek, as if painting him
for ownership.
“You know,” she whispered. “I like the way you moan,
squire.”
Isaac could only breathe and watch the ceiling.
Without ceremony, she lifted herself off his cock and
climbed back to her feet. “All the fight pounded out of you, then?”
He made a ragged sound.
She glanced back towards the darkened stairway leading out
of the chapel. After sparing him another glance, she began to walk down the
aisle of pews with casual confidence, her ass still exposed, her thighs
glistening wet, her tail perked and wagging.
“Don’t go nowhere!” she called, disappearing up the stairs.
Isaac didn’t get up off the floor. He didn’t feel capable of
moving at all. The ache in his pelvis was growing in intensity, and he felt as
if he’d attempted to sprint across a mile of sand. There was no part of his
body that was not covered in some combination of
sweat, blood, saliva, and both of their emissions.
Instead, as his body convalesced, his mind drifted away. He
felt his thoughts drifting away from the tomb, away from the desert, as if he
could suddenly see through the rock and sand and bone. He had never felt so
clear of mind.
He imagined fields of wheat shining in the sun. He imagined
towns of stone and brick, towers and castles, palaces and temples. He imagined
uncharted jungles teeming with life and danger. He imagined frigates sailing
through storms, horsemen galloping through mountain passes, airborne machines
flying through the heavens with magic and metal.
He imagined meeting friends at a tavern. He imagined
fighting duels with bandits, their swords clashing in mud and rain. He imagined