Chapter 38 Venim
Bmp!—Bmp!—Bmp!
The human’s facemask thumps against the muscles of my back in a quick, drum-like cadence. I twist in the saddle to scold her.
“Stop that,” I say. “Sit up straight.”
She says something—some insolent rejoinder, no doubt—but the words are whisked away by the wind before I can catch them. I face forward again and give the reins a slight tug, micro-correcting the thrumwing’s course.
Behind me, a dozen other thrumwings automatically follow suit.
We are making good time.
I didn’t bother to put my armor back on for this flight, and the high wind feels nice and cool against the bare scales of my exposed chest and arms.
It is middleday now, or slightly after, but the sky is still clotted with clouds, dulling the sunlight.
Not an unusual state of affairs here on Ul.
Hundreds of veks below us, the surface of the planet slides past, a gray-black field of craters formed by some ancient meteor shower that happened eons before anything resembling a sapient species ever set foot on this Monad-forsaken rock.
Mount Bolguz is still many, many draths ahead of us. We will have to ride hard to reach it before nightfall. The thought of turning Jean over to Pharod pains me, but I have no choice.
No choice…
I look back at the riders flying along behind me. It’s difficult to tell with their goggles on, but I get the impression that every single one of them is staring at the little human sharing my saddle. If I’d been thinking, I would have seated her in front of me rather than behind.
I’ll have to remember that the next time we stop for a break.
Before I face forward again, I take a moment to observe the other two prisoners.
The whore and the weed-monger. They are seated together atop Grindal’s old mount, which was left vacant following his untimely demise in the depths of the mine.
The blue Hassaith is sitting in front now, straight-backed and serene.
The big, green Grangorian is seated behind him, lolling drunkenly in the saddle.
I offered both of them some dreamweed before we set out, in the hopes of keeping them docile.
The Hassaith refused, as I thought he would, but the Grangorian accepted his ration with great enthusiasm, sucking the whole stalk down in two big lungfuls.
He’s so stoned now, he would probably fall right out of the saddle were he not chained to it.
It does not matter that the prisoners cannot steer their mount. Thrumwings are hive beasts. They instinctually follow the swarm unless instructed otherwise.
If only the same could be said for my own men…
Bmp!—Bmp!—Bmp!
The human female butts her head into my back again, a little harder this time. It’s not enough to hurt me, but it’s enough to be annoying. I pull back on the reins to slow my thrumwing, thereby lessening the rush of the wind.
“Why do you keep doing that?” I growl.
“I need to pee.”
The last word is unfamiliar to me, and her device leaves it untranslated.
“Pee?”
“You know,” the human says, her voice swinging between urgency and annoyance. “Piss. Urinate. Micturate. Tinkle. Potty. Number one.”
“Ah,” I say, comprehending at least some of the words she just spewed at me. “You need to relieve your bladder.”
“Call it whatever you want,” she says. “If I don’t do it soon, I’m gonna explode.”
“Well, we don’t want that, now do we?”
I gesture to the men to let them know we are landing, then I guide my thrumwing down toward the ground. I land just outside a medium-sized crater and dismount. Then I lift the female down.
“Piss break!” I call to the others, who have now landed nearby. “Somebody see if the prisoners need to go. Give the big one more weed if he wants it.”
“What about the female?” someone shouts.
“I will be taking her into the crater to relieve herself. The rest of you are forbidden from watching.”
The warning is met with grumbles of displeasure.
“Reckon you’ll have to unseal her,” another man calls above the din.
“That’s right.”
“Have fun,” comes the bitter reply.
I glare in the direction of the bastard who said it, and I am tempted to reprimand him physically. I am just about to do so, when the little human shivers beside me and tugs at my arm.
“Please,” she whines. “I’ve gotta go!”
I sweep my eyes over the gang of inmates one last time, assuming an air of cold authority. The eyes glaring back at me are not as cowed as I would like. The looks they’re sending my way are restless, insubordinate, seditious.
For a moment, I consider taking my armor out of the saddlebags where it is currently stashed, but the human is still tugging impatiently at my arm. I settle for my glazeblade instead, slinging the scabbard strap over my shoulders.
“What’s that for, Venim?” asks a mocking voice. “Gonna spank her again?”
“No,” I reply coldly. “It’s to cut the eyes out of any man I catch watching us. And after I cut out his eyes, I’ll forcefeed them down his gullet. Do I make myself clear?”
More grumbles.
“Please,” the human whispers.
I take her by the arm and lead her up the slope of the crater. We crest the rim, then descend into the wide natural bowl within. It is perhaps fifty veks across and perfectly round. The center of it is more than deep enough to hide us from the men standing outside.
I release the human’s arm and look at her for a moment. She is still clutching the little damaged android like a child seeking comfort from a favorite doll. Earlier, I offered to stash that useless thing in my saddle packs along with my armor, but the idea seemed to distress her greatly.
I shake my head, less at her childish behavior than my own newfound permissiveness, and I gesture to the zipper on the front of her suit.
“Clothes off,” I tell her. “Now.”
This time around, the human does not bother arguing. She sets the broken android gently on the ground and starts to undress. She gets her suit off in sareths flat and stands before me, blushing and naked.
Well, not quite naked. Her breasts and sex are still painted blue with my gleth.
“How do I get this stuff off?” she asks.
“You don’t,” I tell her. “Only I can do that.”
Her face darkens.
“How?”
I step forward, until my body is nearly touching her own. I can tell she wants to back away from me, but she stands her ground admirably.
“With my saliva,” I tell her.
The color drains from her face. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“I’m not.”
Then, to prove my point, I drop my head to the level of her right breast and start to lave it with my tongue, spreading wetness all over the dark blue stain covering her nipple.
The human gasps, and starts to pull away, but I grab her and hold her in place, forcing her to endure my cleansing of her flesh.
Every Znthian male’s gleth carries its own unique protein signature, and a corresponding enzyme in his saliva acts as a biochemical key, depolymerizing the seal without harming any of the surrounding tissue.
In other words, a gleth-seal can only be removed by the male who produced it. There is no other way.
The human female is about to learn this fact firsthand.
Or perhaps I should say, firsttongue.
The gleth on her breast gradually melts as I smear it with my saliva.
Once it has been sufficiently liquefied, I lick it away, swallowing the salty substance with an involuntary groan.
The female’s mammary is left bare and glistening in my tongue’s wake.
Her exposed nipple is stiff and ruddy from the stimulation.
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask, brushing my thumb across her erect nub.
“No,” she lies, trembling. “And in case you didn’t know, humans don’t pee out of their boobs.”
So, she wishes to be insolent with me. Very well, two can play at that game.
I dip my head again and seize her other breast in my mouth, sucking and licking it at the same time, ignoring the female’s whimpers of protest and enjoying her spasms of pleasure.
Her little fingers tangle in my hair, alternately attempting to pull me away and draw me closer.
Even after all the gleth is gone, I continue suckling until her cries reach such a volume that I fear the men standing outside the crater might hear.
“Please!” she gasps. “Please stop. I have to pee so bad!”
I grant her mercy.
And myself the prize I so desperately desire.
With a hungry growl, I drop to my knees in front of her and, pressing my mouth against the apex of her thighs, I start on the main course of my little feast…
Her cunt.