CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE #2
Kronos kissed her, his entire body covering hers.
Finally, she could feel his cock between her legs, pressing against her, enhancing what the claw was already doing.
Kronos ground against her slowly, coaxing moan after moan from her lips, kissing her while he did it.
Daphne was overwhelmed with pleasure, sensation, texture, taste.
She could not see with her eyes, but she could feel with her entire body.
Daphne touched everything she could reach: Kronos’s abs, the great slope of his back, the tight muscles in his biceps.
She touched every inch of him, in awe of the way he fit perfectly against her.
It was the closest to having sex they could get—in a position resembling missionary—his cock rubbing against her center.
From the way he was thrusting, Daphne had an idea of how he fucked.
She knew she wanted to experience it. But not now, not like this, when there were pressure and people and the enormity of their future at stake.
Instead she hooked her knees around his torso, holding him even closer.
Kronos responded in kind, deepening the roll of his hips, completely closing the space between them.
Her wetness was everywhere—it coated his cock, her thighs, the claw.
Daphne was so malleable he could have split her in half and she would have let him.
Instead she chased her climax, feeling the way he also chased his, syncing their movements as they ascended together.
Inevitably, Daphne heard “THREE!”
After her third orgasm, they lost themselves in a rhythm together.
They developed a shorthand—a series of words and gestures that made it so they were perfectly in sync.
Here. Harder. Faster. Slower. Now. Wait.
Again. Somewhere along the way, Daphne lost her fear of the crowd and relished it instead.
She found that she enjoyed the prospect of other people seeing her like this.
It made her feel like she was a part of something.
It made her feel important to be watched.
Her inhibitions were lowered, her shame completely gone.
Daphne experienced climax after climax.
Through it all, Bastian kept a running tally, yelling out not only their number but the numbers of those around them.
For the most part, Kronos and Daphne were in the lead.
Only one other pair was anywhere near their count, and judging from where Bastian’s voice was when he yelled for them, it was more than likely Caspenon and his guest. Daphne did her best to ignore the noise, concentrating instead on the man before her and what he could provide her. She told him what to do, and he did it.
Eventually, it had been hours, and still the challenge was not over.
It became exhausting. Pleasure turned to pain—Daphne was nothing but a vessel for climax.
She could not command Kronos any longer; she could not give one more order.
She was too tired to be in charge. Daphne no longer knew what she wanted, nor did she care to articulate it.
All she really wanted was to rest. But time was of the essence; the entire point of the challenge was speed.
They could not slow down; they could not give up.
After her tenth orgasm, she could barely breathe. “Kronos,” she gasped. “I need a break.”
“We cannot stop, Daphne,” Kronos said, his voice strained. “I am so sorry. We must go on.”
“I’m so tired.”
“We are almost there.”
His fingers were on her clitoris—stroking, always stroking.
“ELEVEN!”
It felt like an exorcism. She did not just cry out; she cried. Tears seeped into the blindfold, surely marring the silk. Kronos took her in his arms, rubbing his hands gently up and down her back as he held her against him.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know, baby.”
“Kronos,” she mumbled against his shoulder. It was all she could manage.
“Just one more. One more, Daphne. Please.”
One more. Never had the prospect seemed so daunting. Daphne would rather walk on hot coals than have another damn orgasm.
Before she could say so, Bastian again called out, “ELEVEN!”
Kronos tensed.
“Caspenon?” she whispered.
“Yes. We are tied.”
A hair’s breadth of a pause passed, then Kronos said, “Can you tell me what you need?”
“I need…I need you to…”
There was only one thing she needed. A break. In every way—physically, mentally, emotionally. Daphne could not do one more thing for herself; she could not be in charge one single second longer. It was time to make a decision.
“I need you to take over,” she said. “I need you to do it for me.”
They both knew time was of the essence; they both knew that if Caspenon’s guest finished one more time, he would win the challenge. Daphne had not gone through all of this just to lose in the final seconds.
“Are you sure?”
“Just do it.”
Kronos did not bother with a reply. Instead he turned her around on the mat, positioning her so that she was on all fours.
This was his specialty, and it was time for him to do what he was born to do.
She was his muse, his student, his guest. She was his tool.
Daphne felt Kronos touch the tip of the claw, hooking his finger around it and pumping it in and out of her center, coating it with her wetness.
Then he removed it entirely and began sliding it slowly into her asshole.
The claw filled her in such a way that she couldn’t help but cry out as Kronos pushed it all the way in.
The tip curled over her clitoris, only now the claw was farther back, so the fit was significantly tighter than before.
The stimulation on her swollen, tender nerves was nearly unbearable.
She tensed as Kronos slotted his cock between her legs, grabbed her hips, and began to thrust.
Every time his hips hit her ass, his cock stimulated her clitoris and the claw stimulated the rest. If the goal was to overwhelm her, it was certainly working.
In the excess of sensations, Daphne temporarily forgot her fatigue.
Just as it became more than she could handle, she felt Kronos lean back and begin to remove the claw.
Only it did not feel the same as it had going in—the claw was changing; she could feel it morphing as he pulled it out, lengthening so that the more he pulled, the more there was to pull.
The shape was different too—it felt like a string of beads—not unlike what Daphne had seen one of the other hosts create at the start of the challenge.
Kronos touched her center as he removed the string, syncing his motions so that every time a bead left her, his fingers entered her.
It was purposeful and coordinated and so pleasurable it was nearly agonizing.
Daphne had never felt anything like this before.
Something awoke within her, some animal instinct that loved being touched this way—the part of her that wanted Kronos to take over and became turned on when he did so.
She moaned recklessly, losing the last of her inhibitions, wanting nothing but for Kronos to take her all the way there.
The moment the last bead left her, Kronos leaned forward, grabbed the back of her neck, and pulled Daphne up so that her spine was flush against his chest. His knees went between hers, spreading them so she was straddling the base of his cock.
It reached past her belly button; she felt his head against her stomach.
His other hand clamped over the base, pressing it firmly against her clitoris.
Then he began to thrust, his hips lifting her up and down, dragging her clitoris along his shaft.
His cock was covered in her wetness; everything was covered in her wetness.
Kronos’s grip was punishingly tight, directing her in exact, measured thrusts, guiding her with perfect precision.
Daphne was on a brink. Despite her blindfold she closed her eyes, allowing her head to fall back, surrendering to him completely.
“There you are,” he murmured in her ear. “There is my perfect girl.”
“Kronos,” she cried. “Kronos.” There was no other name on her tongue—nothing else she deigned to say.
“I know you can do it.” He was her muse, her teacher, her host. “You are so beautiful like this, Daphne.”
Finally, she came.
Climax crashed into her like an avalanche, and the moment she came, Kronos did too, his essence pouring up onto her bare stomach.
With the last of her strength, she placed her hand over his cock, sliding her palm through his cum, feeling the most integral part of him.
He placed his hand over hers, fusing them together.
Daphne was so weak she barely heard Bastian cry, “TWELVE!”
A moment later the blindfold was off her eyes. The first thing she did was turn to Kronos, who was watching her with a mixture of pride and concern on his face. His hand cupped her jaw, lifting her face to his.
“How do you feel?” he asked anxiously.
Daphne didn’t have the strength to answer. Despite finally getting her vision back, somehow all she wanted to do was close her eyes.
“We must stand,” Kronos was saying. Behind him, Bastian was approaching.
“Help me,” Daphne whispered.
Kronos obeyed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her upright. He held her tightly against his body as Bastian stopped before their mat.
“Behold,” the Serpent King cried, pointing at Kronos. “Our winner.”
Daphne found it rather rude that he didn’t say winners.
She looked up at Kronos, who was looking down at her.
Half the crowd—she assumed the Seneca half—screamed their approval.
The other half watched them with dark looks on their faces.
Beyond Bastian, Caspenon stared at her with rage in his eyes.
The sight was enough to make Daphne turn toward Kronos and bury her face in his chest. He held her tighter, pressing his lips into her hair.
“It is over,” he said. “You were perfect.”
Somehow, the first challenge was over. Somehow, they had won.