by Jake Stone
I spin her around and tug down the rest of her body suit to the tops of her boots. She’s just way too hot for a simple hand job. I need to fuck her—hard.
I shove her against the gated fence and drop to a squat, taking my time as I spread her ass cheeks apart. Her asshole blooms out like an exotic flower and her pussy lips, already dripping with cum, spread apart invitingly.
“Fuck, Xander.” She glances over her shoulder at me, a look of submission on her face. “What are you doing?”
“Making you feel good.” I sink my face between her cheeks, ramming my tongue up her asshole. It’s tight at first, but I coax it open by playing with her clit with my fingers.
She gasps at the sensation, her brow furrowed in astonishment. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me,” she whispers.
Neither can I!
After a while, the sensation is so overwhelming that she begins to help me. She arches her back deeper, and I feel her hand pressing against the back of my head. She’s loving it.
“Spread your cheeks for me,” I say, rising to my feet.
There’s a look of fear in her eyes, a glimpse of apprehension that freezes her in place. But she breaks through it, trusting that I know what to do, and quickly does what she’s told, giving me full view of her holes.
Her asshole’s still too tight to fuck, so I sink the head of my cock into her pussy. Slow at first, then with one quick thrust, I sink the length of it into her. Her head rears back in pleasure, and her hand falls to my wrist, which is planted firmly on her hip, sinking her nails deep into my skin.
My balls begin to slap against her clit as we start to fuck, and the fence, which she’s holding on for dear life, begins to squeak with every thrust. But I don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the sound of her ass slapping against my hips. The image of it is intoxicating, so I thrust harder and harder.
“Does that feel good?” I ask.
Overcome by pleasure, she hangs her head between her shoulders, her fingers tightening around the wires of the fence. She doesn’t answer. So I help her by gripping the back of her long red hair and pulling it back. My right hand reaches to squeeze her left breast.
“Huh?” I ask again.
“Yes,” she breathes out. “Harder, harder, keep fucking me.”
I can feel her pussy tightening around my cock, her breathing growing shallower, as she takes over the thrusts herself. She’s about to cum. But so am I. I need to pace myself; not give into the amazing sensation of her wet pussy on my hard cock. Petronelous is a goddess, an absolute stunner with a shit-brick-house for a body. I have no idea if I’ll ever get a chance with a woman like this again. So I press on.
When she finally comes, I feel it. Her entire body stiffens, her skin rises with goosebumps and her hand reaches back to clutch my shirt.
I stand still, holding her in place, my right hand clutched in her mane of hair. I fear if I move, she’ll fall to the ground. That’s how vulnerable she is right now. After a while, she straightens, leaving half of my cock inside her. She doesn’t move. She just leaves it there to rest.
“Thank you,” she breathes into my mouth as she turns to me. She reaches for the hand on her breast, holding it there, letting me feel the pounding of her heartbeat.
“I’m glad I could be of service,” I whisper.
“You were,” she replies, the relief in her voice like a song. “More than you can imagine. But now it’s your turn. How do you want me?”
I take in a sharp breath, my chest lighting with desire. “Like this,” I say.
She gasps as I bend her forward again, her hands reaching for the fence. “Go at it, then, off-worlder.”
My hands tighten around her hips as I position her before me, and I begin to fuck her as hard as I can. Not for her. But for me. Her ass is all muscle, like a cheerleader who grew up doing gymnastics. But it still jiggles. I stare down at it as I continue to ram her, unable to look away from that beautiful asshole. My thumb slowly moves in to feel its ridges, and that’s all I need to lose myself.
I yank my cock from her pussy, ready to come all over her back. But the movement catches her attention, and, unbelievably, she spins around, reaching for my cock at the last second and jerking it off into her mouth. My body tightens as a blast of ecstasy and relief washes over me, my very essence leaving my body.
Cum shoots into her mouth, filling the back of her throat. But some of it misses. I stare, amazed, at the flood of sperm that has speckled her pretty lips and face, as well as the tiny rivers running between her fat tits.
She swallows what she has, shooting me a scornful, yet playful stare as she squeezes the rest of it out of me.
“Well?” Petronelous asks as she rises to her feet. Her face, inches from mine, is covered with cum, and she begins to wipe it from her face with her fingers, sucking each one off until they’re clean. My heart nearly jumps from the sight of it, and I’m already getting hard again. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Are you kidding me?” I yank up my pants. “That was amazing.”
“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.” Her tone is that of a sergeant once again.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, slipping back into the role of recruit.
There are no kisses between us. We’re not lovers. This was merely a once-in-a-lifetime chance that I’m grateful for.
Once we’re dressed and about to leave, I’m suddenly shocked to find a row of Palace guards appearing to our right. Fully armored with long sharp spears, they glare at us with condescending grins, clearly aware that they’ve just caught us fucking.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Petronelous demands as she rushes to wipe the rest of my cum from her chin. “What’s going on here?”
The head guardsman, a tall man with sharp eyes, takes his time as he examines her large breasts and tight crotch. “I’m here for him,” he says, motioning to me. “For the one who cracked the earth.”
Chapter Fourteen
The doors to the palace open with a creak of ancient tradition.
I feel as if I’m walking into the past, a rich history of fabled dynasties and mighty kings that stretch back as far as the desert landscape itself. It’s another world here, a sanctuary of luxury distinct from the wretched existence of adobe buildings, pitched huts and homeless beggars that stains the world outside. And it quickly occurs to me: Here, there’s always water.
Petronelous and I are escorted through the entrance hallway—a vast open space whose walls are high and dusted crimson, decorated with brilliant frescoes, delicate vases, tapestries, and rugs. The adornments are as overdone as the city is rotting.
We pass through another set of doors, ignoring the few servants and clergy still present at this late hour. Dressed in long red robes with funny hats, they stand to the side, bowing their heads in solemnity as they make way for us.
We continue on until we reach the end of the much smaller hallway, where a spiral staircase rises dizzyingly high into the palace. Just one look at that thing makes me cringe, and I quickly wonder whether I should suggest using the elevator. But I don’t. I’m the prisoner here. And they’re in charge.
Instead, I climb, and climb, and climb, until finally, the captain of the guard leads us out onto one of the floors, where I’m surprised to find Beshai Tulgas waiting to greet our arrival.
“Your Holiness,” the captain of the guard says, as he takes a knee before the beshai.
The old man cringes at the formality of it. “Yes, yes, thank you very much.” He looks past him at me and waves me forward. “Come, come. The hour is late, and there is much to go over.”
I hesitate for a moment, glancing at Petronelous who’s standing right beside me. She’s the only one I trust here. Not only that, but I’m worried for her. She was, after all, the one who allowed me to dig the trench in the first place. If my safety’s at stake, so’s hers.
“Go,” she says sternly, her stoic beauty betraying nothing of the emotion roiling inside of her. “T
he beshai awaits. Do not let him linger.”
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask.
She regards the men around her with disdain. “I’ll be fine.”
It takes me a few seconds to pull away from her. I don’t like leaving her alone with these assholes, even if she is a master swordsman. It isn’t until I feel the beshai’s hand tightening around my arm that I relent.
“Come,” he urges. “She’s not the one in trouble here.”
My stomach turns at his words. So I am in trouble. Fuck.
Turning away, I follow the old man into a small chamber, where I’m suddenly hit with the reek of stale cranish. It’s a powerful odor, like that of a homeless man whose been drunk for days without a shower, and I have to cover my nose to bare it.
Looking around, I realize that the chamber is more like a personal office, a study. Leather-bound books line the wooden cabinets stretching across the walls, while a single desk sits at the end of the room, with two chairs sitting before it.
Pretty nice. But there’s nothing ornate about it, nothing decadent or overdone like the rest of the palace. Here, I feel as if I’m standing in the sanctuary of a scholar, a man whose apparent interest is reading and drinking, something I really can’t criticize.
“Sit,” the beshai orders.
I do as he says, moving in front of one of the chairs and taking a seat.
“So,” he says, plopping down into the chair behind his desk. “I’ve heard about this little…well…this hole you dug this afternoon.”
“Petronelous had nothing to do with it,” I quickly say. “It was all—”
“Relax, my son.” he says pouring himself a glass of cranish. “There are far worse sins than digging. The truth is we should’ve been digging for water decades ago. But there are those in the church who feel that suffering is the only way to ascend to heaven.”
“And why would they think that?” I ask.
He shakes his head and shrugs. “Ever since the War of Darkness, people have been stricken with the fear of the afterlife. They know something far more terrible than they could’ve ever imagined is out there and now they’re willing to do whatever’s necessary to find salvation.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Ever since I got here, all I’ve seen are criminals, prostitutes, and slavers. I don’t see any penance going on.”
“Not them,” he says with a sneer. “My brothers, the clergy, the government. The people are their responsibility, and as such, they, in turn, are responsible for their salvation. Saving billions of souls gives them allowance to indulge in their own allowances.”
“Like drinking all the water they want?” He looks at me, and I immediately realize that I’ve upset him. “I didn’t mean to…” I quickly add. “I was just—”
“Relax, young man. You said it because it’s true. And, as much as I hate to admit it, we have lost our way. The church, sadly, is not what it used to be. Look here, for instance. I now find myself in the position of having to punish a person for saving lives.”
I bow my head and nod, reconciled to the fact that I’m sure to be punished. But how? And by whom? Candatoria? That bitch still wants my eyes!
“But I won’t,” he says. “If my brothers take allowances, then so shall I. What you did today helped the quarter. Who knows, perhaps they’ll take inspiration from your act and begin digging for springs themselves.”
“Thank you,” I say, relieved by his mercy.
“Do not smile yet, boy,” he warns with the first grin I’ve seen on his face. “I have something much more difficult for you instead.”
At that moment, as if on cue, the doors open, and I see Zorel, Petronelous, and Atia entering the room. They move beside the beshai’s desk, where they array themselves formally in a line, each of them greeting me in their own personal way.
Zorel beams me a seductive smile, while Petronelous gifts me a proud glare. Only Atia remains emotionless, her incomparable beauty radiating like a sharpened sword.
“I’ve recently heard something that has piqued my interest.” The beshai arches a fatherly brow at me. “You had a recent encounter at a local establishment a few nights ago?”
The Ogre’s Toe. I look to Zorel for confirmation. She nods her ascent. “Look, that’s not the type of place I usually hang out at.”
“It’s not my concern what a man of your age does in his spare time,” the beshai says. “What I’m more concerned with is what happened there.”
“I don’t understand.”
The beshai takes a deep breath. “Zorel tells me that you experienced some nervousness when you saw a piece of art in Borga’s office.”
My mind reels back to those dangerous moments on the upper floor of the Ogre’s Toe. And I quickly remember the bruisers surrounding us with blasters, the prostitutes sitting on the couch, but most notably, that damn black sphere sitting on the back shelf freaking me out. I shudder from the memory of it. “What about it?”
“That piece is an artifact from the Dark Horizon,” Atia says. “One of the few substances that have crossed over and come back.”
“Your point?” I ask.
“You felt it,” Zorel says, joining the conversation. “You actually picked up its vibrations and recognized its source.”
“So?” I ask, frowning. “It was a weird piece.”
“You’re missing the point, my son,” the beshai says. “If this piece entered the Dark Horizon and came back and you could feel it, this proves that what you’ve been saying is true.”
I sit back in my chair, overcome by a real sense of fear. “I’m not going back into the confessional again, am I? Because as hot as Candatoria is, she’s fucking crazy.”
Tulgas lets out a tired sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose. His skin is red. His eyes are dark. He’s exhausted, no doubt from drinking too much cranish and not enough water. “You’re not going into the confessional,” he assures me. “Instead, you’re going out into the desert.”
“To do what?” I ask.
“To help me find demons,” Atia finally says, her voice rife with determination.
I look at her, examining the pained look on her stunning face. So this is their plan? They want to use me like a guidance system, some sort of organic sensor to pick up readings of unnatural beings?
Over the next minute, I do some computations in my head, working out the intricacies of this discovery, and forming a hypothesis: I’m special. There’s no other way to put it. Somehow, some way, my voyage through the Dark Horizon has undone my genetic makeup, either transfusing it with some common element that exists in that darkly twisted landscape or rearranged it to fit and survive through its portal. The possibilities are endless. All I can do is accept it, and for Rachel’s case, use it to my benefit.
“And why should I help you?” I ask, suddenly filled with a rush of confidence. Lying back against my chair, I offer the old man a calm smile.
The women exchange glances. The beshai frowns.
“Because, my boy,” Tulgas rushes to say. “If the rumors are true, and there actually are demons on this world, we must know about it as soon as possible. The fate of Dardekum, the fate of the Republic, depends on it!”
“And what will you do for me?” I ask.
The beshai is confused, as is Atia. But I can make out the amusement on Zorel’s face, as well as the hidden satisfaction edging on Petronelous’s lips.
“Rachel,” Zorel says.
“Who’s Rachel?” Tulgas asks.
“The girl,” Atia answers coldly.
“His friend,” Petronelous adds.
The beshai’s face crumples like a grape as if this is the first time he’s hearing about this.
“She was taken by Skarteck and his men,” Atia explains dryly. “Whisked away into the desert.”
“I see,” the beshai says thoughtfully. “Terrible business this slavery, one that the church and I greatly lament. But sadly, there is little we can do for her. For one, we wouldn’t even kno
w where to look for her if we wanted to. The frontier is a large place.”
“She’s to be sold at a slave auction,” Zorel says. “I have the coordinates.”
Tulgas shoots her a glare, appearing betrayed by her revelation. It takes him a moment to recover. “Still,” he says, returning to his casual tone. “Even if that were true, how would we even know when it was to occur?”
“Tomorrow night,” Petronelous says.
Tulgas shuts his eyes, frustrated by this continual interruption that threatens to undermine his goals. It has become an inconvenience to him, a snafu in his plan to rid the world of supposed demons. Too fucking bad. I came here for Rachel, and I’m not leaving without her.
“Perhaps we can send a small unit,” Tulgas suggests, “a covert team that could infiltrate the premises and retrieve some information on this girl. Who knows? They might even be able to tag her with a location device. Perhaps after a couple of months, even weeks, we could send out a recovery team to get her?”
“No deal.” I lean forward in my chair, my mind set, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I’m suddenly all go, and unwilling to accept anything less than my proposal. “This is what I want from you,” I say. “An entire unit of Purifiers, a bunch of hover-cycles, loads of weapons and ammo…and air support, whatever you got. You do this for me, and we have a deal. Anything less, and no dice.”
“This is ridiculous,” Atia replies. “What gall, what audacity to demand this of the Republic.”
“Please,” Tulgas says, calming her down with a raised hand. Taking a deep breath, he shuts his eyes, clearly flustered by my deal. “What you ask for is no small price, young man.”
“No one said catching demons is cheap,” I say, holding his gaze.
After a moment, I see that my demand wins out.
“Fine,” he says. “If this is what you require, then this is what you shall have.”
Atia spins on the old man. “But your Holiness!”
“I’ve made my decision,” Tulgas declares. “The young man shall have his team, and you shall aid him on his journey.”
