12 comments/ 20677 views/ 17 favorites A Lesser Race By: ocuous Author's Note: This is not one of those quick stories you can get off to in five minutes. There's plot and character building, but in the end I think it's worth it. I'll only post more if people seem to like it, so if you want a continuation please let me know. Thanks. ============================== His blade was longer than her leg. She saw it from across the market square, where he was arguing with a merchant over standard prices. Brazen and bearded as he was, the mercenary had walked through the city streets clad in armor of dyed leather and metal chains and a flowing cloak that he wore about his shoulders, and when he had entered the market he moved with such determination that passersby cleared several feet for him to pass. He had then glanced to the side quite casually and seen a glass bottle of some green-colored liquid affixed to a strap and hanging up with other drinks on the front of a streetside stand. Sweeping out his arm, he had scooped the bottle up with little regard for manners and guzzled it all in one long pull. Then he had slammed it on the countertop of the little kiosk and looked the salesman in the face for the first time ever. "How much, then?" he asked. Bewildered, the merchant said that it was his most expensive beverage, and that it had been imported from lands so far away that it would take months just to send the message to those who produced it that he would need another. Then it would take months for them to send a resupply, and- "How much, then?" he asked once more, before the explanation could wind down. This had sure enough caused a commotion, for the townsfolk of Ladia City had never met so large and so confident a man, and it had been a long time since anyone spoke so loudly. For such a crowded area, the people had a practiced decorum about them. They went by quite patiently in their colored and flowing garments, a finer caste of humanity than such a man could ever hope to understand. Their negotiations were soft and seemingly rehearsed, with patrons standing across from salesmen, waiting pleasantly for the swindlers to finish their absurd stories about the rarity of their products before promptly refusing to buy and moving on to another. Now they were all turning to see this armed man, whose developing goatee gave him a sort of brutish aspect. His eyes were dull and mean, and his brow was perpetually wrinkled, as if everything he saw took him aback. In spite of his strong jaw and wide shoulders and powerful build, and a head of short, curly hair most men only wished they could have, he was not handsome in the least. But not ugly, either. He looked like a soldier, in the end. A killer. Nothing more. "N-nothing," the merchant soon told him. "For such a fine man, I've no choice but to offer it free. Take it as my gratitude for all the maidens you've likely saved in your years of service to the sword." He seemed too straightforward to even comprehend such gladhanding beyond its core message: Free booze. He understood. To prove it, he nodded and turned to go. But just then, he found her standing there, blocking his path. She knew immediately that he had identified her kind, because he seized her up by the arm with a hand hand strong enough to yank the frail limb clear off in one pull. She was looking up at him with big, childlike eyes in which rested golden irises, split vertically down the middle by slender pupils like a cat's. Her complexion was dark, and her hair was raven and stringy and smattered against her sweaty forehead, and she was wrapped in a hooded blue cloak that hid her body away from the cruel autumn sun. "Girl," he said to her. She stiffened in his grasp, saying nothing. "The hell are you doing sneaking up behind me? And half hellbound, too. I'd wring your neck right now if I knew what church to bring the body to." "No church," she said softly, not distressed, but not confident either. "No church? You're not run off from somewhere?" "Not yet." He stopped and looked around, finally noticing the audience he had gathered. Suddenly cognizant of the fact that he might be heard, he leaned in closer and spoke through clenched teeth. "What the hell is a cursed bitch doing on this side of the world?" With her free hand, she reached down into the expansive pocket on the outside of her cloak, and when she pulled up a weighty bag of coins his attention shifted from her face to the prize she held. "I'm looking for someone," she said. "I need safe passage to Costella." He smiled. "That's a good place to get your halfbreed ass killed." "It is," she agreed. "I'll pay for your company." That made him laugh. "I wouldn't spend a night there for nothing." "Then just get me there." "How much?" She looked around. "Alright," he said. "Let's leave the fairbloods here." Then, pulling her along like a schoolteacher reprimanding an ill-behaved student, he went through the town, under the archways of the walking bridges where people traveled through the upper levels, kicking down rocks and gravel. Ladia was a "Progression," rather than an actual city, which meant it was governed by whatever enterprising young noble held the deed at the given time. Cities like Ladia were called Progressions because they often changed hands, and when they did, the new owners built on top of what was already there. As a result, there were many tiers to the city, stone stairwells climbing several stories to meet walkways that intersected in maddening configurations, and islands of stone erected on immense pillars where soil had been gathered and seeds had been planted and benches had been placed, so that people had airborne public parks to attend. There were bridges so wide and long that they served more as floating neighborhoods than anything, and the people whose homes had been built on them had backyards of nothing but sky. The mercenary took her deep into this knot of a city, past the hollow clopping of horse hooves, and through a band of rowdy teens. He led her to an alleyway where a few homeless men lay possibly dead, so filthy that they stank worse than corpses. He went past them, deep into the alley, under the shade of the buildings and the criss-crossing aerial walkways overhead, and he pushed her up against the wall with little regard for her comfort, and he put both hands against the wall so that they were at either side of her head. "What're you paying for a safe trip, hell girl?" She leaned back against the wall, small under his immense figure. "Whatever you think is fair," she said. "You look like a sure sword." "Sure with both," he said, smiling in a way that was too menacing to ever be attractive. "Well I only need the one," she told him. Then she looked down at the massive sword on his waist and tipped her head in its direction. "You've used it before, no?" "Plenty." "Then we should be fine." "Who the hell are you looking for?" She studied his eyes for a moment, unsure of whether or not to answer. "I'm waiting." Averting her gaze, she said, "No one important." "Man, or woman?" he asked. "Woman. Young, though." "Young as you?" "Sure." "You know her?" She sighed. "Kin?" She looked him in the eyes, frustrated, and asked, "Are you interested or not?" He raised an eyebrow, leaned in a little closer and sniffed at her, and then stood back. She had hoped that the simplicity in his form and manner would make him immune to curiosity; swordsmen are often this way. You ask them to cut a man, and they ask who, and they ask how much, and then they cut the man. They couldn't care less if the victim has been fucking your wife, or if you've been fucking his. Good or evil, money keeps their throats slick with alcohol and their stomachs full with meal. Though most find that to be a mercenary's most deplorable quality, she had always admired it. Nothing wrong with honesty. But this man was apparently a thinker. A scholar, comparatively. "Look, you can walk your ass to Costella on your own if-" "No," she said, cutting him off. "I'll tell you." "Alright, then." Exhaling another heavy sigh, she said, "I'm looking for my sister." "Another cursed whore?" he asked. Her mouth twisted up, and her nostrils flared as if she had just smelled something horrible, but she swallowed back her proud rage and only said, bitterly, "Yes." ------------------ Before nightfall they were mounted on the same horse, her riding behind with her arms around his waist, and him holding the reins and watching the passing terrain with disinterest. The gothic architecture of that stone wonder called Ladia drifted into the background, and with it all the men and women outside the walls standing under tents of luscious colors and trading goods and conversing on matters of little import. The sun was behind the city so that when she looked back she saw it hidden behind the intricate stairwells and walkways and bridges upon which human figures moved, tiny and stick-like and apparently imaginary. As she left this breathtaking image behind, she wondered for a moment whether god himself saw the lives of men this way, a shadowpuppet show in the distance, performed with as much passion, but ultimately of as little consequence. Her show was only just beginning. They rode for many hours, and the trees were weeping their autumn leaves, broad tears of golden yellow and blood red and crimson and dirt brown and sometimes, if they were lucky, green. The wind picked up often, swirling these things about them, and the swordsman fixed his cloak further up against his broad shoulders and rested his hood on his head, but it usually blew away exposing his curly hair once more. Though they were under assault by the winds constantly, that did not offset the problem of the sun, which even in falling past the distant horizon glowered intensely and burned what little skin they had exposed. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling, to be both so hot that she wanted to strip her cloak off, but so cool that she wanted to pull it tighter. Sweat ran down her back and against her cheeks, and she hated how it felt to have her wet clothes clinging to her. "I can smell you," he said out of nowhere at one point. Her heart stopped at the mere thought. "You're trying to cover it up with that big cloak," he went on. "That works alright in the city, but out here it's useless. I can smell you good." She did not know how to answer. After sunfall, they were in the dark, and she saw the glowing eyes of predators in mother nature's woodworks. They continued for a while before she felt they should probably stop until morning. "Are we safe for camp?" she asked. They were not too far out from Ladia, even after traveling with no breaks, so it made sense that any deadly predators should be making their rounds elsewhere. "We are," he said. "But I charge by the night. And this is a night. You stopping?" She could barely hear him over the horse's clapping footfalls, and the soft but constant moan of the wind, but she made out his message well enough and said "That's alright. Let's stop." They were still amid the colorful trees. He reined up the horse and turned it into the woods so that they would not be directly on the road should questionable fellows happen by in the dark, and then they unrolled their meager luggage and made a fireless camp in a sea of leaves so thick they couldn't see the dirt. It looked like a dumping ground for confetti from every parade the world over. They set up their own makeshift bedding, wrapping cloths around bundles of leaves to make pillows, but just when she was lying herself down he looked over at her, clad only in his undershirt and pants, and said, "I take more than just coin every night." She looked at him. "From a woman, I mean. At least your kind." "My kind." "It's what you're good at, isn't it? It's what you're supposed to do." "It's a crime." "Says who?" "God. It's a crime against God to lay with a woman like me." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He could fucking smell her. She pulled her cloak tighter against herself and lay there. "Do you taste like that, too?" he asked. "I don't know what I taste like." "No one's ever told you?" he raised an eyebrow. It was a long time before she answered him. Perhaps she hoped he would leave her alone if she acted as uninterested as she was. "Well?" he eventually pressed further. "Well, no," she finally answered. "I never asked." "Come here, then." He gestured for her to come with his hand. When he saw that she wouldn't move, he went over to her on his hands and knees and sat beside her and pulled her by her arm until she sat up. "Holy shit," he said. "I can smell it. How do you keep the animals off of you?" She didn't bother answering. Abruptly, he took her in his arms and pressed his nose to her cheek and sucked in a deep whiff of her pheromones, whispering something about candy, and muttering the name of a fruit she'd heard of but never tasted or seen. "You like it," she said, intending to pose these words as a question but instead speaking with a sort of hopeless resignation. He cupped his hand against the cheek opposite the one he was smelling. He tilted her head so that he could press his nose into her hair, and when he exhaled through his mouth she felt his warm breath on her face and ear. The night was all around them, dark and eerie and noisy with the papery clatter of leaves. She wondered if some spirit governed the star-stained sky above, some other deity of obscure origin, of a more womanly bent than that which might watch over them in the day. And she wondered what this supposed goddess would think of her, a baseborn degenerate so natural of sin as to tempt men even against her own will. She had no religion. No true one, at least. But she had learned at a young age that she was the type of woman who should be ashamed of her own existence. That she posed a natural threat to mankind, as a wolf does a deer. That she was a predator by birth, but that she could be something more by choice. It was the best anyone like her could hope for. She tried teaching these lessons to her younger sister, but the girl was utterly unrepentant and would rather embrace her ill nature than fight it. That was understandable. Fighting was hard work. Even in that moment, with a total stranger touching her where no man's hands should ever touch, she felt that pang of desire welling up in her gut, a burst of butterflies one normally feels when their dearest love walks by. His hand was in her cloak, under her shirt, where her nipple stood erect between his fingertips. She bared her teeth and only withstood it as he bit into her neck, just below her jawline, stopping the moment he tasted her flesh and then burying his face there and licking at her like a dog with a bowl of his favorite meal. "Goddamn," he said breathlessly after pulling away. "That's incredible." Looking at him, she whispered, "This is wrong. You can't take back this mistake. We should-" He cut her off with a sudden kiss, which he did with so little skill that he crushed her nose with his, and she could feel a bead of drool running at the corner of his mouth. He bit her bottom lip and pulled her against himself, and then he put his weight against her until they were lying together in a pool of particolored leaves. He was strong and heavy, and he had a scent of his own that enticed her. It was musky and dirty and utterly human in its depravity. Sometimes she tasted a man's tongue and smelled his body and touched his flesh and wondered how it could be that hers was the lesser of the races that walked this earth. This time, as he overwhelmed her senses in the din of leaves and wind and tree branches that played chorus to their crime, she felt no different about her situation. It made no sense that she was the impure one. The mercenary cast open her cloak and found that she was wearing a shirt and dress underneath, and he threw up her dress and wasted no time in removing her panties. Being hellbound, her body was aroused even when her mind was not, so when he got her panties around her ankles, he found that she was very wet. The aroma must have caught him by surprised, because he tossed her panties away and paused for a moment, a curious look on his face, and then he moved between her legs and leaned his face down near it. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes as he pressed his nose against her there. Smelling such an enticing odor, he must have found it impossible to keep his mouth closed, because he pressed his lips to her and sucked on her clitoris and licked it slowly, looking up at her. He winced when her hand came down against her crotch to keep him away. She was breathing heavily and looking at him with crazy eyes, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath as if she had just run a marathon. "Please..." she tried to say. But there could be no more words. He moved up, bringing his face close to hers, and he wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her deeply. There was no romance or passion in it, only an animal desire. He took her the way he took the drink in the market-casually, and without much understanding of what he was doing. She pushed uselessly at his massive body, but when she seemed to be making some small progress in peeling him off of her, he brought his hands down and took her wrists and pinned them in the ground, hidden amongst cold leaves. His smell was intense, and he tasted so wrong, and he was unreasonably powerful, and all this conspired to drive her insane. She opened her legs for him and he gladly stuck himself there, never to be dislodged should she change her mind. When his teeth sunk into the flesh of her neck this time, she wailed in defeat, falling prey to his animal will. He bit her hard, the way she liked it, and when her back arched he acknowledged it by scooping his arms under her there so that he could hold her body against his. It seemed like he honestly meant to eat her, the way he bit viciously into her neck and sucked at her skin and kissed her and then attacked once more. He was grinding himself against her, thin fabrics the only barriers between them and unforgivable sin. But soon this foreplay wasn't enough. He was, after all, quite a simple man, even if he had shown some potential capacity for nuance every so often. He got up on his knees between her legs, and she watched with the silent eyes of a cat as he pulled his pants and underwear down just enough to unleash his cock. Much like himself, it was disproportionately large. She didn't care, really. She wanted it no matter how well or poorly endowed he might be, not because she felt anything for the man, or his rough appearance, or his two-dimensional personality, or his history with violence, but because he had touched her as lesser people liked to be touched. She embraced him when he laid back down against her, and as he pressed himself inside of her, she exhaled a shaking breath and raised her legs slowly. He fed her the entire length of his cock, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt, so deep inside that when he put his arms around her neck and forced a kiss on her again, she was at risk of climaxing then and there, overcome by everything from his scent to the coarseness of his form. He was a brute. No, less than that, because his actions lacked even a hint of violence. He fucked her slow and hard, each thrust powerful enough to rock her with its momentum, and there was no anger in what he did, nor was there a helplessness in her reactions. There was nothing so human as a connotation of assault in their intercourse, nor so demonic as a connotation of lust. They fucked the way animals do, with an impersonal efficiency to their every movement. A Lesser Race The man soon stopped kissing her, because he was more enamored with her cunt than her lips, and he settled for resting his forehead against hers and listening to her bestial grunts; which she in turn sang out every time he thrust her. His cock filled her completely, and her cunt watered like the mouth of a starving beast, and it clenched down hard on him to keep him trapped within her, and it made soft, wet squelching noises as he worked it ruthlessly. When she came, she closed her shivering legs against him and her pussy closed up so hard that she could feel his cock against her trembling walls. She groaned, an animal noise, and as he continued to work her orgasming cunt a wave of perverse pleasure emanated from her crotch to every inch of her body. It washed over her mind, clearing it and warming it and exciting neurons that had not fired in many years, and her eyes rolled back and she saw vivid colors in a mosaic of what must have been God's misshapen, disfigured face. And though she basked in the rush of pleasure, it was in no way holy or passionate, or even depraved or sacrilegious. Had it been any of those things, she may have felt less guilt, for each were weaknesses which afflicted her subhuman race. No, their corporeal communion was as basic and primitive as a bear snapping a buck's neck. They fucked out of necessity, because they were both young, and neither was particularly unattractive, and both had gone far longer than anyone their age might normally go without touching someone else. That was the whole truth of the matter. When he was done with her, he spent himself inside of her. With his powerful embrace, he held her still and growled as he emptied himself deep within her trembling, warm, clenching loins. It must have been particularly intense, because he did this for a long time, and when he was done he lay against her barely awake. She waited beneath him, breathing hard and coming down from her post-orgasm high. She waited until the wind blew so much that her cheeks hurt, and she waited until she felt his seed dribbling down her ass to the ground, and she waited until it was hard to take deep breaths with him pressed atop her. "I want to sleep now," she said, quietly. The mercenary opened his eyes slowly and looked at her. Dull eyes. No life there, no poetry in the network of synapses that formed his basic mind. Only instinct. He put his face in her neck again and started with small, nibbling bites, and she could do nothing but squeal in a tiny voice, childlike and restrained. Then she felt his cock stiffen again, inside her. It was a peculiar, shockingly intimate moment that she would never forget. Terribly aroused, she bit her lip and stared in his eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers once more, and she wrapped her legs around him, and they continued where they left off. He was clutching her so tight in his arms that she felt his taught biceps against her sides, and she could feel his abs against her soft stomach, and his thick fingers dug into her back. Completely at his mercy, she climaxed very quickly under his barrage of angry thrusts. The area was loud with her angry-sounding grunts, and the sound of their flesh colliding again and again. He tore this orgasm from her, made her suffer through it with eyes rolling back and toes curling and ankles crossing tight against his back and fists balling up and her pussy clenching down on him hard, as if to stop him. This time they came together, and as he pumped her full of his seed she saw more colors, more strange imagery, more conjured visions of her dear creator. In the end, he rolled off of her, his energy completely sapped. She wasn't half done, and she had the strongest urge to mount him and finish the job, pressing her lips to his and sucking away his life force until he was an empty corpse resting forever among the leaves. She could have used him up entirely, a vampire of souls rather than blood, and she could have taken the horse and rode back into town and sought out a man who might entice her desires much less. But she didn't. She covered herself up again, and she rose and found her panties and after much hesitation pulled them back on, like a man in a desert who knows he must close up his canteen despite wanting desperately to drink up all his water right there. She found his bedding in that sea of leaves, and she took the cloths and shook them clean, and then she covered him up and slept beside him until morning. When she woke, he was already up. He stood over her, rolling up his bedding, adorned in his dyed armor and with his sword about his waist and his heroic cloak draped over his shoulders. He looked down at her, showing no proof in his face that he remembered anything of the night before. "When you're ready," he said, and then he went to the horse where it lay and got it up, and he took it through the trees to a nearby pool of water where he let it drink. She gathered her things and was standing by the road when he came back for her. Together, they galloped the whole day through, until they were out of the dense forestry. The trees opened up to the plains, where the sky was gray-blue, and the grass was a saturated hue of green, the concentrated color of man's avarice. There were horses and other livestock grazing amiably, and there were gargantuan birds soaring above, with wingspans of tens of feet, flying at the very height of the sky, where it must be possible to reach up and touch with your fingertips the heavens themselves, where God walks. Was he looking down from the clouds then? Was he regretting her existence? She put her arms around her protector and rested a chin on his shoulder and wished for all the world that they were fucking just then. Anything to quiet her mind. They passed through a small hamlet, which served as a terminal for the city that dwelt below. Portoboro had once been a huge network of tunnels dug out by the ancients for the purposes of war, but in this modern age there was no practical use for it in that manner, so the nearby people built homes down there and made it into a bustling town. One could travel through its countless water-powered elevator shafts and twisting, turning tunnels for months at a time, but it was typically more trouble than it was worth to travel that way. So they passed through, slowing to a trot and waving hello to the people above ground: The blind man who did not turn to look at them, but waved anyway, and the whores on the corners with dust on their cheeks and barely anything to wear, and the drunkards on the other corners with their bottlefulls of a black liquid likely bad enough to rip up your insides. The people watched them go wistfully, perhaps fantasizing about some romance between these two travelers that simply did not exist. She wondered what it must look like to them, to see a dark girl with strange eyes holding tight to a pale man with a shabby but gruesome-looking sword. Did the people watch their progress, even as they drifted away? Did they care enough to see off these pilgrims, and to study their grim figures as they melted into black dots on the horizon, indistinguishable from the myriad wildlife struggling across these vacant planes? They reached a fork in the road when the sun was halfway through the sky. One path went up, cutting a way through a range of hills, and one descended into a valley where many other roads met. He preferred the higher road, so they went that way and crested a hill and looked out over that interminable expanse of land with no less wonder or apprehension than had the first ever man and woman to do so. Here, he stopped the horse and dismounted. "Down," he ordered her. "Is something wrong?" He took her hand without answering, and helped her down. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her. "What is it?" He put his arms around her and pulled her to him, and he pushed his lips against hers and exhaled a warm breath into her mouth. She relaxed, becoming doll-like in his arms, and letting him take from her what he needed. "I smell you again," he muttered, lips barely apart from hers. "I always fucking smell you." "Is this all you want?" she asked. He paused and narrowed his eyes at her, apparently not sure whether she was flirting or simply asking. She had no obvious expression on her face, and no definite tone in her voice one way or another. By the way he looked at her, she guessed that he must be wondering whether or not she was real. He put one arm around her lower back and cupped the other hand against the back of her head, and then he hesitated, apparently checking once more the truth of her existence. And then he kissed her again for a long time, and she stood there being used in the warm glow of a sun in perpetual freefall, orange and fat like a raw egg yolk. After some time, he seemed satisfied with the kissing, but he told her that he wanted to taste her again. He started down on his knees, but she begged him to wait. "I wish we could save that for the night, if you must do it." In no way did she expect him to listen, but somehow her words had made sense to him. He nodded, rising to his full height again. Then he helped her up on the horse, and he climbed aboard himself, and they went trotting toward the sunset, squinting and looking around, no less crude or raw or artless than the landscape about them. Their travels ended in an abandoned village. The sun was blinking away behind the curvature of the earth, and the sky above was an apocalyptic swirl of black and blue and orange. The clouds themselves seemed full of evil they were so dark; worse than that, they were formless and elongated, ugly as pure sin. And these two travelers went without word through the naked streets of this premature ruin, peering into boarded up stores and through doorless entryways into households stripped bare. They kept going until some nameless sixth sense seized them in place and told them that the small hut before them was their home, and then they stopped the horse and tied its rein to the doorknob and went inside. The front room was bare, and the kitchen in the back was a tragic scene with a shattered window and an austere oven robbed of its door and even its coals. Other than that, they found an office room that had nothing but a handmade desk. She stood over this thing, pressing her hands to it and leaning and envisioning what it must have been like to be here in earlier generations. Was it as beautiful as she assumed? Or was this place as cold as all others? She smoothed her fingertips against the desk's wooden surface, which was ringed as if it had been cut from a thousand-year-old tree. An artifact made of an artifact. His hands cupped her breasts. He had taken her from behind, and now he was kissing her ear. But again, to remind her that there was no love in any of it, he sucked hard on her earlobe as if it were coated in sugar, and he bit it so terribly that her eyes stung and she had to shut them to keep back tears. Yet she wanted even more. He pushed her down against the desk and lifted her dress, and then he very impatiently pulled her panties around her knees. For her part, she pressed her face into the desk and accepted that she wanted this worse than he did, no matter how self-righteous she felt. After some time fumbling with his pants, he pressed the warm, spongey head of his cock against her. He was parting her ass cheeks and pushing it against a hole she had not expected. But she hungered deeply for him to do it, and she had to bite her lip to keep from speaking words of encouragement. It may not have even mattered. With great effort, for she was dry and very tight and clenching down the whole while, he forced himself inside of her, making a point to continue until he was balls-deep, pressing his sweaty pelvis against her ass. Her eyes rolled back and she clenched and released over and over, and he was so enamored with this sensation that he lay against her and unloaded a hot burst of semen in her ass before a single thrust, grunting as she moaned like a common slut. When he regained his composure he got back up and planted his palm against the back of her head, keeping her face smushed against the desk. With his other hand he pressed down on the small of her back, forcing her to arch it. And then, keeping her in this uncomfortable position, he very slowly fucked her ass, being thorough about his work, so that she felt nearly his entire length working her again and again. It was slow and very painful, and it burned inside her ass, and she felt like he was splitting her apart. Yet she fucking loved every second of it. Her legs trembled to the point of it almost looking intentional, and her ass continued to clench and release, which the mercenary was already adept at withstanding. He fucked her like this for a long time, grunting and fighting it when he seemed to be nearing orgasm, the way a man does when he's trying to push a little further at the end of a workout. When it was finally time, he pulled out suddenly and rammed his immense cock into her pussy, and he spurt inside her, and she was so surprised and turned on by this that she came unreasonably hard and lifted her feet off the floor and shook, her whole body jerking with the force of it, and her pussy gripped him tight, forcing him to moan and fall against her. Normally, no man could continue with so much intensity without at least taking a short break, but this man was not engaging with a normal woman. He did not see it, but her eyes were aglow, and she was already enchanting him. Her scent grew stronger, and her body was warmer. He wrapped his arms around her and breathed heavily with a chin resting on her shoulder, and against his better judgment he began thrusting her again, and when he climaxed this time his cock was buried deep within a pussy that was unnaturally warm and quivering enough to feel like it was vibrating. He did not moan so much as he whined when he came, finishing up inside her and finding no energy to remove himself from her. That night he woke in the darkness, confused about where he was. Then he saw her lying there in her bedding, on the floor beside him. He rolled on top of her and woke her with his strong, lusty scent and drunken kisses. She watched him with those kitten eyes, but he was too tired to do anything about his wanton desires. He eventually fell asleep atop her, and she didn't mind. Their travels continued this way, with impromptu sex in the dark and sometimes in the light. Rather than drawing them closer, their despicable behavior drove them further apart. They communicated less and less with actual words, using mere eye contact and gestures like foreign tribesmen. Every day he needed to stop and remind her that he smelled her, and he never did it with words of any kind. In the bushes, or behind a tree, or right there in the road, he devoured her sweet, inhuman flesh. Sometimes she wanted him to keep going, and he could tell by the look in her eyes and the way her hands traced his figure, and much to her chagrin he exploited this, fucking her mindlessly in the dirt. People passed by on horseback, perhaps glancing into the brush in wonder at what appeared to be two people fighting to the death, but they never cared enough to stop. Sometimes they surprised each other. One day, they stopped by a lake and he sat her down on the ground and did away with her panties and sucked on her pussy so well and for so long that she couldn't count the orgasms anymore after a while. She tried to scoot away, but he hooked his arms around her legs and worked his tongue faster and harder, and she was rendered immobile by the full-body orgasm that followed. Afterward, she was so sensitive that she could only ride the horse a few minutes before she asked him to stop. They sat together, barely acknowledging each other, until he got bored and pinned her down and fucked her. So they decided to just make camp. Another incident involved him fucking her ass late in the night They were in a bed of flowers, and he was laying his full body against her, driving the entirety of his length down into her ass. She made an effort not to clench down or shake too hard or do anything that might overstimulate him, and he rewarded her with a deep, lengthy fucking that sent chills up her spine until eventually she came from no stimulation but him fucking her ass. She clenched so hard and curled up beneath him so suddenly that he was taken by surprise, and came in her ass, still fucking her the whole time. Finally they saw their destination in the distance. Costella was not a collection of buildings, but one single megastructure that was above ground and underground at once. It was a giant, snaking loop of obsidian, stone and glass that rose up from the earth, arced, went back into the ground, and then emerged elsewhere, arcing again before curving back into the ground. Some of the arcs curved over and under one another, and some of the loops of obsidian and steel wrapped to form the shape of a helix, and the whole diameter of the thing was miles apart so that there were multiples levels, all built to accommodate the shifting, swaying architecture. There were homes outside of the loop, but most people lived with in, either above ground or underground, where orders of magnitude more of the loop existed, extending down for miles. From far away it looked like an orgy of snake gods, black and deep blue and shining in the sun. "A day's ride out," he said. "We'll be in tomorrow." She nodded. "Let's dismount." "Right." They made camp beside the main road, because so many people passed by that it was less dangerous than it would have been to move away. As she sat, eating cold, cooked meat from a beast he had slaughtered not twenty-four-hours earlier, she wondered if by now she hadn't completely deviated from her mission. She was supposed to be saving her sister from exactly this kind of lifestyle, and yet here she was, roaming the kingdom with a stranger whose only worth to her was what he had between his legs. In truth, she tried to somehow care about him; she tried to find a reason to love him. But she just couldn't. Aside from the one very obvious reason of course. That meant that she might have already ruined herself with sin. It was possible, but not certain. Yet this man's fate was undoubtable. He had tempted her, had sinned against God by laying with a beast. No man has that right. She looked up from her meal, and found him looking at her. "You want me?" she asked. He nodded. "What will you do to me?" "I dunno," he said. "Let's see." She wrapped the meat up in the paper it had been stored in, and she shoved it in the little satchel they kept, and she scooted back onto her unfurled bedding and waited for him to give himself to her. This time, when he went to embrace her, it was she who embraced him. She put her arms around him and bit his bottom lip and wrapped her legs around his waist. That excited him. He closed his hands tight against her ass and lay her down and pinned her with his weight. They would fuck one final time, and she would finally give him what he seemed so desperately to want. She would bless him with an experience only possible when man lies with succubus. She rolled atop him and cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed him so passionately and so repetitively that they were out of breath, and air was coming heavily out of his nose, and when he drew it in he was intoxicated with her animal scent. She was straddling him, sitting so that her crotch was against his, and his big cock was crushed under her. She knew he could feel her abnormal warmth, the heat of a cunt that draws from a man not his seed but his very life. She basked in his helplessness, kissing the corners of his mouth and biting his chin and jawline and finally nipping at his neck. A Lesser Race "Oh fuck," he said, breathlessly, lying back so that she could take control. Next, she went down and pulled his pants and underwear away just enough for his cock to be released, and she waited not one second before clutching it in one hand and looking up at him with a devious grin and stroking it. He stared down at her, a pleading look in his eye as she worked the soft, warm head of his cock with her thumb. Perhaps he saw it by then, or maybe he was too lost in pleasure to notice it, but her eyes were aglow again, and her pupils had expanded from narrow slits to full circles. It only took a few moments for her to get what she wanted. Her thumb swirled around the hole in his cock, sensual and teasing and utterly unsatisfying, and yet strangely alluring. He whined and rolled his eyes back, and somehow he shot a hot spew of cum just from that basic stimulation. A few more spurts satisfied him and left him oozing in her hand. He groaned and lay back, dazed and probably frustrated at having cum with almost no pleasure at all. Then she closed her warm lips against the head of his dick. A shiver ran through his body, and he got up on his elbows. She took her hand away and only sucked the head, looking up at him as she repeatedly let her lips come away with a wet, loud popping sound that made him wince. Then she went down a little further on his cock once, came back up and made her lips pop. Again, she went down just a tiny bit further, recovering with a smacking release of her lips. And then finally, on the third try and she went down so far that she was pressing the tip of her nose against his crotch. His whole body seized up and he came immediately, and by then she was deepthroating him so mercilessly that he was digging his fingers into the dirt. He must have known at that point. He must have realized his doom. She never ever took her eyes off his, so he must have seen the difference in them. Something demonic, in a more real sense than any story could prepare you for, a placid admission of evil intent through a mere gaze. No diabolical speeches or radical transformations into vile creatures; just a heartless glare, like that of a killer not when he is about to plunge his knife within your heart, but immediately after. The empty satisfaction of claiming another victim. She wore that look as she pleasured him. There was barely anything left then, but she still gagged loudly on his cock, tearing up with reddening eyes and drooling with spit and flem and his gushing cum. He whimpered pathetically, unable to stop her, and she tasted his delicious seed with no intent to stop anytime soon. This went on for nearly an hour, or perhaps longer; she had no way of knowing. She sucked on his shaft, and he burst while her lips played against his flesh, and she wiped his mess off her face and licked her fingers clean and then sucked from him another virulent load, as potent and hot and thick as if he had not cum in over a month. She punished him this way, not out of hatred or anything so mundane. When she grew bored of this, she got rid of her panties and mounted him. He was so overwhelmed that of course he was emptying himself into her cunt the moment she sat down all the way on him, and he was buried to the hilt. She closed her eyes and reveled in this filthy pleasure, feeling his gushing cock pour forth. He was trying to beg her to stop, but she was clenching and releasing on his cock, and he was so sensitive that he tensed up all over when she did, and he could hardly speak. She smiled and brushed her hair back behind her ear and leaned down to kiss his lips, and then she went to work. She fucked him until she came, collapsing against him and clenching and releasing on his cock so hard that he curled up against her and grunted like a dying beast. After a few instances of this torture, she felt his cum and her juices pooling underneath her, but she didn't mind. Her cunt was extremely warm, and it quivered against his cock, which all made him lay there in a perpetual state of pre-orgasmic bliss, eyes rolled back and mouth open, until she fell upon him and he once more made a mess of her infertile womb, as if he hoped to defy nature and make her a mother. When she was finally done with him, he was little more than a lifeless fucktoy whose batteries had totally run out. She lay against him, teasing his cheek with her fingertip and kissing his lips with her own, sending electrifying pleasure across the whole of his flesh. His eyes were not open, and he did not stir. "You have defiled yourself," she whispered. "You made a woman of a beast." She kissed him once more. "And now you forfeit your life, all and entire." With that, she cupped one hand against his cheek and the other against the back of his head, and she kissed him deeply, humming against his lips at the flavor which filled her mouth. It was rich and creamy and so intensely sweet that the back of her tongue tingled, and she was exhaling heavily through her nose, pushing puffs of white air out of her nostrils. He convulsed violently and shivered and made useless choking noising as she killed him. She pulled away from him when she was done, and she blew out of her mouth, and the white cloud of his broken down spirit dissipated in the air like cigarette smoke. "Holy shit," she whispered, her mind buzzing. She had literally sucked from him his very soul, and it filled her mind with beautiful, dancing thoughts about how peaceful the world was, and how gorgeous mother nature was, and how strange it was just to be alive. She climbed off of the dead man and crawled away in the dirt and lay there, wondering if he thought it was worth it in the end. Did he enjoy his death? Did she fulfill his dreams? She wondered, next, about her dear little sister, who was no doubt out there in the same blissful high, having murdered some other helpless fool who could not keep his cock between his own legs. TO BE CONTINUED (maybe)