His hand drops to the back of my head, and I feel his fingers curl into my hair, into the intricate braids that Trasmea made. He pulls hard, tugging at my scalp, and I wince, but it doesn’t really hurt. He tugs once, jerking my head to turn my face up at him.
“Now,” he says. “Show me that you have been trained, Anya Mann, to please yourza’kryuk.”
Have I been? I can’t remember a single thing right now. Not one single thing about my life, or why I’m here. I know, somehow, that if I touch hiskryth, there where it branches and forks and snakes around his cock, it will drive him wild. I know this. I feel like I have done it before. I know what his cock will feel like in my mouth, what it will taste like, I even know what his seed will taste like—saltier than a human’s, not as bitter, almost good.
And so, maybe I’m only acting on instinct, maybe I have only dreamed of Rysethk, or maybe Rysethk has trained me for this very thing, though I cannot remember it. I open my mouth, and move toward his erect member. He grips my hair so hard that tears form in my eyes as he pulls, and I look up at him as I flick my tongue out for the only patch ofkryththat I can see.
He inhales sharply and groans, tipping his head back, when I touch his cock with my tongue. His grip relaxes enough that I can maneuver my head, tipping it slightly, to follow the hot, yellow glow of hiskryth, and his cock jerks as I do, knocking against my jaw.
He tips his head down suddenly, and his eyes meet mine. In them I feel the power of Zethki’s dominance: a force of fear, of power, of control, of possession, that turns me into a liquid. My body feels weak, my pussy throbs.
“Take me into your mouth and pleasure me, Za’aka.”
I obey him, not just because I fear him, but because I want to, because I’m compelled to. He pushes against the back of my head as his enormous slab of twitching meat slides between my lips. My jaw aches as I stretch for him, and I gag slightly, momentarily, when his cock hits the back of my throat. But I can keep going, I don’t know how I know this or why, I can take him whole, I know I can.
When my lips reach the base of his cock he pushes twice, two short, humiliating shoves, ramming his dick into the back of my throat. My eyes water, but I lift my eyelids, straining to meet his gaze.
When I do, he inhales sharply again. And then, holding my head by the hair, gripping me fiercely, he moves his hips, drawing his cock in and out of my mouth.
He fucks me like this—not violently, but not tenderly. Possessively taking me as his, making me his, claiming my mouth like I know he will claim every other orifice before the night is over—while his cock swells and burns hot on hiskryth, pulsing with his desire.
My pussy is throbbing, wetness gushing from between my legs.
He is saying something in Kerz, I hear ‘good,’ ‘mine,’ and ‘little whore.’ His words trail off suddenly, the way a person in severe, sudden onset pain might lose their speech, and his whole body grows stiff, his muscles flexing, before he thrusts deep and I feel the heat of his semen exploding at the back of my throat.
His orgasm is long, and I drink his seed, marveling that it’s familiar in taste to me even though I have no memory of ever doing this in training. Is it wrong of me to want to please him? I do, I can’t explain why, if it’s fear or something perverse, or a true feeling.
When he at last lets loose of my hair, and slides his still-erect cock from my lips, his chest is rising and falling at a steady pace, and his mouth is twisted in a bizarre expression, much like the one that crossed his face at the ceremony.
He passes a clawed finger over my lips, gathering a dribble of his cum. When he offers it to me, I suck it from his fingers, keeping my lips from his sharp claw. A growl rolls through his chest, and his lips curl in an evil smile.
“You are good,” he snarls at me.
He moves quickly again, grabbing me at my waist and tossing me onto the bed. I’m in the air before I realize that he has even moved, and I land on my back. He swipes at the still-untorn bottom of my robe, shredding it open.
“Open your legs,” he growls, towering over me at the end of the bed. He is peeling away his own clothing, staring between my legs, hunger like nothing I have ever seen contorting his features.
I hesitate, fear gripping me. This kind of feral desire is not something I have ever seen on a male face, not looking atme,not in a film or even a documentary. It’s annihilating, inevitable, all-consuming. I can’t tell if he’s going to murder me, or fuck me, or eat me.
A snap of leather-like material cracks suddenly through the air. As his robes fall to the floor I see something flash next to him, and then I look at his right hand. From somewhere—perhaps his robe—he has produced a thick strap. “Do you disobey me, Anya?” he asks. He is smiling. “Maybe you want to be punished? Is that it?”
His tone is lighthearted, playful. The same manic, frightening playfulness that he displayed after killing Petlola. I stare, unable to process what I’m feeling. Again, the terrifying thought that he’s not bound by the rules that bind Rysethk flashes through my head. The snap echoes there, and I feel the phantom sting of Rysethk’s hand on my burning bottom.
His playfulness fades as suddenly as it appeared, and now he looks mad and terrifying. “Maybe later. Now, you will spread your legs, and I will fill you with my seed.”
It’s a command, I realize, that I have no choice but to follow. Trembling, I pull my legs apart, and he surveys with hunger the glistening folds of my pussy.
He grins again, suddenly manic, and points at me. “You. You like fear.”
Another smile, as he climbs onto the bed, one heavy leg and then the other. His cock is twitching again, full, ready for me. “This is good. It will be good marriage.” He lowers himself over my body, grasping my jaw, his other hand moving to my clit, making me shudder in pleasure and fear. “I like fear,” he tells me, in almost a whisper. He runs a claw over my upper lip, stroking me casually, looking into my eyes. “I like causing it.”
I close my eyes, certain that he will enter me, but he changes course as suddenly as he set out on this one, laughing his sinister laugh and sitting back up on his knees. “Soon,” he tells me, so maniacally that an even more intense fear begins to spread throughout me; this Kerz is literally crazy. “Soon I will give you the pleasure and pain my good cousin has taught you to crave.”
This is strange news, and I’m bewildered. He must see this in my eyes, because his demeanor changes course again. He smiles at my confusion, clearly mistaking it for disappointment. Putting a hand to my cheek, his claw glinting menacingly, he strokes my face. His eyes become distant and he lowers his voice. “My cousin has come to me,” he confides. “With a prophecy from the seer that I can’t ignore.”
He maneuvers his cock to my entrance as he says this, and I feel the thickness of his bulbous head, pulsing with his desire. But he doesn’t enter me.
Thekrythof his chest is stained with the red of my blood, and I glance at it, thinking of the bloody letters I stained into the pot.
