Chapter Fourteen #3
moved toward her like a runaway carriage.
Just
before impact, she pushed him away, holding him out by the length of her arm.
He pressed his shoulder deep into the pads of her hand, remembering the way
they had gripped him in the chapel.
“Isaac,”
she said. “You sure you want this, now?”
“More
than anything else in my life.”
She
blinked down at him.
“Was
that too honest?” he asked.
“Look,”
she said, taking his other shoulder in hand. “There’s no pressure on you. I’m
just bein’ a tease, cause it’s how I am. Don’t want you feeling obligated to
this. There’s no . . . expecting of me, to you, to be a certain way. You know
my meaning?”
“Zaria,”
he said.
“Aye?”
“I
don’t think you understood me before. I liked what happened,
between us. I liked it so much that it made me rethink everything I ever knew
about life.” The words came rushing out of him. “I want to fuck you.”
For a
moment, she looked at him carefully, her slitted eyes searching through his
expression. He did not look away. Beside them, the fire crackled and rose.
“Alright,”
she said, not letting him go. “If you’re sure.”
“I am
sure.”
“I see
that.”
“Do you
want to fuck?”
“Oh, if
your father could see you now.”
“I’m
sure he’d approve. If not, he can fuck himself.”
Zaria
cracked into a grin.
“Well?”
Isaac asked.
“Well,
alright.” The hands on his shoulders pulled him close. “But only cause you’re
cute.”
She
paced backwards towards the stone bench, dragging him along. With a gentle
release, she sat down on the edge of the ancient furniture, rolling her
shoulders back. Her breasts swayed in the light. Her nipples were very pink.
When she parted her thighs, a strand of fluid lolled from her sex.
“Go on,
then,” she said. “I can’t deny my squire the best medicine he’s ever tasted.”
He
looked at her, and his lust turned to panic.
Inexperience
struck him like a wall. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know the proper
pace of things. His life had always been a strict routine, a listed delineation
of steps and procedures. He had always been told exactly how to conduct
himself. One look at Zaria, and an ocean of possibility spread before him.
It was
terrifying.
But
just as the hesitation struck him cold, a waft of her musk carried across the
air, catching him like a slap across the face. It was no longer just the
unwashed stink of her fur, but a thick, heady aroma, one that seemed distinctly
her in a way he couldn’t properly qualify. It seemed to unlock something
primal in his mind.
It was
her smell.
It
smelled like her.
Instinct
took over. The last word she had said.
Tasted.
He dove
between her legs, like a bloodhound sprinting for a scent. His knees hit the
craggy floor, and his hands gripped at her thighs, pressing them apart, fingers
sinking into meat and fur. Once the valley was open, the heat from her loins
exhaled into his face. He saw her cunt clearly, through the fur and flesh. He
drew close. He took a long inhale, and the smell was as thick as a fog. When he
released his breath, the air brushed against her glistening sex. A shiver
spread through the fur.
“Hold a
moment,” Zaria said.
From
above, she wrapped a loose hand around his cheek, fingers raising his chin to
meet her gaze.
“You realize,”
she said, “that the boney queen is watching us, however she does?”
“Good,”
he replied. “I hope she can hear us, too.”
A laugh
tumbled from Zaria’s throat. “Be honest.” Her hips twitched forward, like they
wanted to thrust. “How often’d you jerk yourself, up
in that tower?”
“I
could’ve been a carpenter, if my only job was painting walls.”
He
rushed ahead, pressing his lips to hers. Her laughter turned to a shuddering
sigh. His tongue traced across her creases, dug through her folds, only barely
keeping pace with his desire. The hand on his face shifted around to the back
of his head, and her thighs closed toward his ears, eclipsing the room from
sight.
“By the
cunt of—” She took a ragged breath. “Gods clear me out, I’d heard humans had
smooth tongues, but I never—”
He gave
a hard, dragging lick, and her words disappeared into a hiss. Already, her
emissions were coating his face, soaking into his scraggly beard. The taste was
metallic, sour, the texture coating his tongue. Every time he drew back for a
breath, a spider web of strands still clung to his mouth, still connecting his
lips to hers, and the sight only made him dive in deeper, mouthing and kissing
and licking. While his face was occupied, his arms roamed around her thighs,
looking for something to grab.
“Forget
it,” she said, her hand still clutching his head. “Forget everything I said
about you being my squire.” She drew a breath. “Oh, this is your new calling,
love. We’re gonna do this every fuckin’ day, now on.”
He
pressed his face deeper, rubbing his nose through her lips as his tongue
circled her opening.
“Oh,
did you like me saying that?”
His
hands took a meaty grip of her thigh. At the same time, her clawed fingers
began to stroke through his hair.
“I
think you did,” she said.
He
squeezed again.
“In
that case,” Zaria continued, “I’ll have you on your knees whenever the feeling
strikes me. Any time, any place.”
Her
thighs pressed around his head.
“I’ll
have you drinking my juices for thirst.”
Her
hips slid forward along the bench, grinding against his face.
“I’ll
treat you like the most handsome prince of the land, so long as you keep that
tongue between my legs.”
The
blush on his face was almost as hot as the feverish pulse coming from her
loins. His sensations were all a blur of liquids, some heady concoction of her
wetness, his saliva, and the water from the pool. Losing all his fear, he drew
shapes with his tongue, roaming in circles, side to side, squeezing his muscle
down to a needle to dig through her folds and pushing it out flat to drag
across her lips, and he knew he was doing right because she reacted to every
one of his touches, her fingers massaging his hair, her thighs shivering in and
flexing out, her breath stopping at a gasp. Every little nudge confirmed the
rightness of his efforts, which only sent him further into lust and frenzy.
He
found, in himself, a great satisfaction in making her squirm. Maybe it was
revenge. More likely, it was pride.
He
liked being proud.
“Higher,”
Zaria panted, tugging him with her thighs. “Isaac. Higher—the fucking—higher—”
He
moved upwards, his ears rubbing through the embrace of her legs, and began to
mouth at the hood of her sex. Almost immediately, she bucked herself against
him, her legs entirely leaving the floor as they draped across his back. He
enclosed his mouth around his new target, beginning to suck in earnest.
“Xotra’s—”
A gasp
echoed across the ancient bathhouse. Her tail whacked against his chest,
wagging furiously, and she bent one of her legs over the other, her knee
locking behind his head like the buckle of a belt, squeezing him deeper. He was
now completely trapped against her sex by the vice-like grip of her thighs, his
every breath smothered in a sopping carpet of fur.
“Don’t
stop,” she growled.
He had
no intention of doing so—in fact, the roughness of her embrace made him work
even harder. He dug with his tongue, gently licking the nub of flesh while his
lips provided suction and pressure, hoping to overwhelm her senses. At the same
time, he was personally growing dizzy, her feminine musk flooding through his
nostrils, boiling his brain, drenching every breath in her taste.
He
could not have imagined a more delightful prison. He could not have imagined
anything close to the reality.
He
could not have imagined how he had lived his life without this.
“Squire—I’m—”
Her
legs locked him tighter, and she began to outright fuck his face, her pace erratic
and needful, wringing him for all he was worth. Isaac held on by the meat of
her thighs, continuing to lick as best he could while she bucked and shifted
and grinded. He felt her growl vibrate down her body. In one final effort, he
gave a soft, jerking suck of her clitoris.
Her
climax announced itself with a flood of emissions, her muscles flexing, her
moan trembling out, her hand and thighs gripping his head, her fluffy tail
whapping against his chest, his face locked tightly in place as she rode
through a gushing note of ecstasy. He held his breath as best as he was able.
After what seemed nearly a minute, she began to relax, slowly releasing him
from her sopping wet embrace.
When he
sat back on his heels, Zaria was almost helplessly splayed across the bench,
her legs out, her head tilted back, her breath panting and hard.
“Gods,”
she said.
Isaac
took a moment to breathe.
“Gods,”
she repeated.
“You
know,” he said, swallowing her viscous cum. “I like the way you moan, madam
knight.”
As if
waking from a stupor, she rose to an elbow, her thighs parting around his head.
She tried to speak. Nothing intelligible was heard. After a moment, she
grinned, all her teeth glinting orange in the firelight. She fell backwards
onto the stone furniture, gazing up at the bathhouse ceiling, releasing a long,
happy sigh.
Isaac
rose to his feet. His tongue felt numb and slimy. His beard was dripping wet
with her juices, and he looked over to the pool, considering the idea of
washing himself again. He decided against it. He liked the idea of her fluids
drying on his face.
A
moment later, Zaria began to sing.
“By the
burning sands, by the spouting sinks
He
found his want, he found his drinks.
With a
thirsting hand, all atop the sand
He
licked her cunt, and called her grand.
Hey,
hey! Away!”
Isaac
blushed, his skin feverish with embarrassment. Zaria lay on the bench,
completely sprawled, her loins still dripping wet, her voice bellowing the
shanty with a weak pitch and a moaning rhythm.
“Hey,
hey! Away!
Gnashed
her gash till she dripped and splashed.
Hey,
hey! Away!
Sucked