“Ride me, my cherished mate,” he murmurs, lifting me with ease, eyes glowing with devotion and hunger. I straddle him on a smooth stone ledge, gripping his horns like sacred handles, his fur soft and warm against my thighs, scraping deliciously.
“Fuck me, my beast—fill my holes deep, make me scream,” I moan, easing onto his cock, my pussy stretching with a slow, exquisite ache, juices coating him as I sink down, grinding in languid circles.
“Gods, your cock’s so thick, beast—stretching my pussy perfectly,” I gasp, my voice a sultry hymn. I shift, guiding his slick shaft to my ass, the pucker yielding gradually, the searing stretch blooming into pleasure as I take him inch by inch, my moan low and intense, echoing like a prayer. “Fuck my ass, Theron—claim it slow, make it yours eternally,” I beg, riding him with a steady, reverent rhythm, hips rolling sensually, his horns my anchor, steam swirling around us, the air thick with wax, sweat, and the wet squelch of our joining.
He reaches around, fingers finding my clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles, making me shudder. “Yes, beast—rub my clit, make your whore cum!”
He lifts me gently, laying me back in the shallow pool, water kissing my skin like silk, his lips returning to my breasts, sucking with relentless hunger, tongue lap
ping like a slow storm, pushing me toward the edge with exquisite torment. “More… please, beast—devour my tits, give me ecstasy from your mouth,” I breathe, nails raking his fur, pleasure building like a warm current, my pussy clenching emptily, dripping into the water. His mouth persists, biting softly, my breasts tingling with ecstasy, vision blurring as I cling to him, moans spilling like incantations. “Bite harder, Theron—make my nipples scream for you!” I cry, hips bucking against his hand.
“Finish me, my love,” I whisper, voice urgent with desperate need. He guides me to my hands and knees, the pool’s warmth caressing my skin, and enters my pussy from behind, slow but deep, doggy style, each thrust a vow of love, his cock gliding in and out, hitting every sensitive spot.
“Oh fuck, beast—fuck my cunt deep, make it yours!” I moan, pushing back hard, meeting his rhythm, demanding more. His hands grip my hips, fur brushing my skin, each stroke a sacred promise. “Deeper, Theron—pound my pussy like your eternal mate!” I cry, pussy clenching tight, pleasure swelling like a tidal wave.
His fingers return to my clit, rubbing faster, and my orgasm unfurls, a searing wave that crashes through me, my cry echoing as my pussy pulses, milking him, juices mixing with the water, my body collapsing, lost in warmth.
I wake hazy, his cock at my lips, his growl gentle but commanding, “Drink me, Eurydice—taste your beast’s devotion.” I suck eagerly, lips sealed tight, swallowing his hot, thick release as it floods my throat, moaning like a wanton goddess, my body trembling with aftershocks, candles dimming to a soft glow. We collapse on the ledge, tangled in steam, fur, and love. I bind our wrists with my red ribbon, whispering,
“No more losing.” He nods, eyes soft, “No more.” We rest briefly, the cavern’s warmth cradling us, then rise to face the abyss.
27
THERON
Awhirlpool stair spirals up before us like the inside of a nautilus shell, its ancient steps carved from the same black volcanic stone as the amphitheater. The structure defies logic and physics, twisting upward through the water in a perfect helix that seems to extend infinitely into the phosphorescent gloom above. Each step gleams with a treacherous coating of algae and barnacles, slick as ice beneath the eternal tide, and I understand immediately that this is no ordinary passage—it's a trap designed to catch the desperate and the careless.
"Climb wrong, and you're spun down forever," I murmur, studying the way the water moves around the spiral. The current here flows in complex eddies and whorls, creating a pattern that would disorient anyone who tried to swim up through the center. The only safe path is along the steps themselves, each one placed at precisely the right interval to maintain forward momentum without being caught in the drowning spiral.
I can feel Eurydice's grip tighten on my shoulders as she sees what we're facing. The red ribbon that binds our wrists pulses warm against my skin, a reminder of the vows we spoke in the thermal cavern. Whatever happens on this stair, we'll faceit together—bound by love and determination and the simple refusal to let death claim what belongs to life.
"Stay close," I tell her, adjusting my grip so she can dismount onto the first step. "Match my rhythm exactly. If the current catches you wrong?—"
"I know," she says, her voice steady despite the fear I can hear beneath the words. "Trust your lead. Stay with the beat."
I set a marching cadence, something I learned during my first years with the sea-guard when we had to coordinate movements across shifting decks. My hooves find rhythm on the slick steps, each placement deliberate and measured, creating a steady percussion that cuts through the chaotic swirl of water around us. The beat becomes our anchor, our guide through the liquid labyrinth that wants to trap us in its eternal dance.
Thump-step, thump-step, thump-step, rise.
The pattern is simple but essential—weight on the back foot, push forward with the front, maintain the cadence no matter what tries to break it. Eurydice follows behind me, her lighter steps falling perfectly in sync with mine, her hand trailing along my shoulder to keep us connected. Together we climb through the spiral, refusing to be hypnotized by the spinning water or the way the steps seem to shift and blur in our peripheral vision.
Halfway up the stair, the necropolis fights back with renewed fury. Shades begin flinging debris at us from the shadows—broken oars like spears, chunks of coral sharp as blades, fragments of the amphitheater's shattered dome. They hurl their missiles with the desperate rage of the truly hopeless, trying to break our rhythm and send us tumbling back into the depths.
I respond with song-bursts—sharp, percussive notes that bat the projectiles aside like a warrior's shield deflecting arrows. Each burst of music creates a pressure wave in the water, knocking the debris off course and sending it spinning harmlessly away into the dark. My voice has become a weaponand a tool, shaped by our journey through the necropolis into something stronger than it was when we began.
"Stand fast, stand strong, keep the beat,
Death cannot touch living feet,
Rise above the spiral's call,
Love will triumph over all."
The improvised chant helps maintain our cadence while providing protection against the attacks. Eurydice adds her voice to mine, her soprano weaving its way through my bass in harmonies that make the very water sing. Together we create a sphere of sound around us, a moving sanctuary that climbs the spiral stair toward whatever waits above.
As we rise higher, I begin to see a vision that makes my heart leap and dance with desperate hope—a pale circle far above, different from the phosphorescent glow of the deep halls. It's real light, surface light, the first hint of dawn dusting the water with silver and gold. The winter solstice is about to end, and the longest night is finally beginning to release its grip on the world.
"Do you see it?" I call to Eurydice, not daring to look back and break our rhythm. "The light—we're almost there."
