Storm of Pleasure

by Eve Bradley

  He was a giant, and she wanted to climb him.

  She let her fingers gently tumble over the engorged velvet tip. He lost his breath in that moment, and his pliant lips and beard tickled her forehead.

  Margaret began to lower herself. It was the first thing she always did. The warm-up to coitus. Although Zothar was not in need of any so called “warming up.” His copious dick was fully primed. Before she could get to her knees, Zothar stopped her and drew her up into his arms. He cradled her as if she were a tiny princess needing to be whisked away from a dragon. His warmth permeated her entire being. He nuzzled her cheeks and nose and then kissed her again.

  He laid her down on the bed.

  “You are another man’s wife,” he said the words bitterly, and she could tell that he abhorred the reality. “But I don’t care anymore.”

  Zothar laid her down on the bed. His great arms kept contact with her the whole way down. He was careful with her as if he were handling a breakable item. He kneeled beside her in the bed, and she rose to greet his lips again. He sat back, and she spread her legs so that she was able to straddle him. Their lips never parted in their graceful movements.

  Margaret gripped him hard, and, in mirroring energy, Zothar pressed his fingers into the ample curves of her ass. He aligned his cock against her dripping cleft and groaned with passion. She could hardly believe this was happening. Her low stomach was heavy with need, but when she pushed herself down onto him, it was difficult. She was unaccustomed to the girth. She implored her body to oblige and became frustrated that she was unable to work him in her typical fashion.

  “Slow,” he ordered her calmly. “Easy.”

  Zothar picked her up and laid her back and came to lay between her legs. His mouth kissed the tender flesh of her inner thighs, and she watched him work. He reached for his wild black hair and nearly began to cry again as he never lost his devoutly respectful expression. He was serious, severe, and he wanted to pleasure her. There was no reason to rush. Every little moment was tension building, lavishing, and safe.

  His mouth cupped round her folds and finally, he allowed his tongue to play. She gasped, trying not to moan. Her back arched against the crumpled sheets. He brought one heavy hand over her breast and down her stomach, every move concise and nearly ruinous to her body. He lapped at her clit in perfect rhythm, and then sucked softly.

  She could hold back no longer, and moved greedily against his mouth. Her moans were needy and filled with longing. When he added his fingers, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She was lost in the fantasy of him, and she wanted every inch of him to fill her. Those large fingers pulsed with his kisses to her clit, and she was racked with spasms. He knew exactly where to touch. Before she climaxed, he withdrew his fingers. She was confused, but then, when she cracked her eyes, she saw that he was readying his cock. Precum gleamed in droplets that he pressed into her clit and then swiped down to her opening.

  “If I hurt you...” he began to say, but she shook her head.

  “You won’t.”

  She wanted to laugh. She was used to pain.

  Zothar took her consent and impaled her fully. It was only through his sheer force that he was able to be inside her. She saw stars. He fit so tightly that her cunt was nearly bursting. She grinned as he began to pump himself into her. She mewled little words of encouragement but lost her voice because he was rubbing and moving into places that forced her body to consider climax. He was a sexual idol, moving as if this were a dance, and every sway of his hips was a part of the choreography. He didn’t pump into her as quickly as possible to simply get his release.

  “I want to feel you coming around me,” he yearned.

  And she would. Margaret’s hands gripped his backside, nails digging into his skin. Zothar sent his cock as deep as he could go, and pleasure broke across her body. Spasms shocked her system and he groaned and tipped his head back, his block-sized abdominal muscles tightening as he spent himself within her.

  Once they’d received their fill, Zothar laid down beside her and drew her into the fortress of his arms.

  “You’re not leaving me yet,” he whispered against her hair.

  A few days later, Margaret got the worst news possible. Delegates from other clans had arrived, and Zothar was obliged to focus on them. It wouldn’t have been different if this hadn’t signified his leaving. They were unable to speak or even look at one another in public, and because they were finished with their lists of Catharsan royals, there was no reason for them even to feign necessary arrangements. Margaret knew her heart was breaking, but she wouldn’t admit it.

  No, now she’d be alone with the hive of poisonous insects. She was afraid without him Dedreia would no longer hold back her sting.

  As expected, Zothar and the clansmen swore their loyalties to the Raspandian crown before leaving. They all assembled in the audience hall, a cornucopia of men wearing furs, bones, and primitive weapons. Zothar wore a great axe at his back and specially crafted armor. He bowed first before Dedreia, and then to her. There was a moment where Margaret thought her heart would stop beating because his large dark eyes hovered on hers and she saw the glass. It took every ounce of strength within her not to shatter.

  Would she ever see him again? Would she suffer unendingly in the palace, all to one day be murdered in her sleep? Or worse...would she live long enough for Lucarian to return and come to harass her body once again? She thought of their wedding night. He’d shown more kindness that night than the entire time she’d been with him. But the next morning, he was the same. She would never forget the malevolent evil that corrupted his soul.

  A rebellious part of her wanted to tell him a detailed description of her sexual exploit with Zothar. She wanted to tell him that Zothar’s body was the finest she’d ever seen. That he was a lover that women could only dream of, and that Lucarian was dirt in comparison. Not fit to lick her boots.

  It was that afternoon, as she was staring out the window at the hoards of Catharsan clans receding into brown dots on the horizon, that she received her first letter from the King.

  Elibeth came to offer the scroll on a plate and she nearly vomited, her resolve crumbling everytime she went to grab it.

  The young girl was patient, and grabbed it for her, setting it in her lap.

  “All will be well,” she smiled at Margaret.

  But Margaret disagreed. She eventually opened the rough parchment.

  Queen Margaret,

  We are stationed just outside the Citadel. My generals have been working tirelessly to formulate a seige plan. You may not know this, but the entire city is built over the Soulsa river. The river itself is like a full sea. The location makes us wary. We await the clansmen as our plan is to send them in as the first wave. The citadel itself is pathetically protected by a meager guard and the Vault Council. But the walls are strong, and high. This is why we have to think deeply about how best to approach it. In any case, I am in a very good mood. I’m stroking myself as I write this, and I like to imagine you are touching yourself as well. I met a few Yamarian’s and sent one of them back to give the Peacequeen a warning before we destroy the last sacred site in the realm. When we are rid of this worry, we can then focus our attention on her. I do admit I worry that she’s seduced the Sultan into giving her armies. Regardless, they’ll be a quick kill. How goes marrying off my sisters? Have you found ugly old men for them to wed? Any brutish lords or dukes with bad tempers? Gods, I like to think about that. Please Margaret, right now, wherever you are...I want you to do something for me. I want you to pinch and bruise your nipples. Do them hard for me. I want you to be reminded of me every time you feel the throb of your tits against your tight gowns. Do it now.

  King Lucarian

  Tears feathered Margaret’s lashes. She dropped the letter to the stones.

  If things had been different...maybe she could have been Zothar’s. If things had been different, maybe she could have escaped this nightmare life. She should have never made herself
available to King Ludrogan. That was her first mistake. Watching Zothar’s armies disappear over the hills, she sighed. She was stupid. Now she may as well be a jester.

  He was a dream that she could never experience again.

  Margaret unlaced her gown and freed her breasts. If anything, she deserved this punishment.

  Catryn

  Jurdu, Yamar

  “They’re attacking us from inside the city!” a man screamed, and hysteria rose like stormy waves around them. It threatened to suffocate them all.

  Cat ran to exit the barracks, flying through the doors and sprinting down the paths. She could hear screams. Explosions. Snarling and the sick squelching of bodies being maimed. The magic roared to life, lush tremors, like rays of light, flashing across her being. She formed her blade again. It was attached to her arm, this frosty accumulation of light and power, and was nearly weightless. The power latched around her wrist like tentacles which lead to an ornate, filigreed white blade. It looked like metal but wasn’t. An explosion caused her to duck, and then a gaggle of demon djinn came pouring out of one of the towns many houses.

  How many are there? Darrian asked.

  She cut through the smoky black creatures. When her blade ripped through them, black oozing pus came boiling out, splattering across the once clean streets. They circled her, and she used Chronos to slow time and then expertly attend to every one of their heads.

  I don’t know. It sounds like they’re everywhere. She responded. But how?

  Citizens shrieked and ran like chickens down the streets. Why were they out in the open? Hadn’t they been instructed to stay inside? To hide? But how could they have known there would be an attack from within? Catryn’s muscles were pumped and inflamed with adrenaline. A man nearly scrambled off the top of a roof nearby, shingles flying out from under his feet as he tried to escape a sole hungry Vulzonic djinn. It’s black smoke hair flared into flames as taloned black claws reached out for his ankles. She used telekinesis to set him safely on the ground and then blew a hole through the Djinn’s chest with faerus just as it jumped down on top of her.

  A man said there are outbreaks of them all across the city. Valryn said.

  Catryn could feel them approaching, but she sent a shield to stop them.

  Don’t. You can’t help. She shot back as she ran deeper into the thrall.

  The humans were stupid running chickens, and the demons were wolves. They were quicker, fluid, and were able to shred skin and take life. She didn’t know if the creatures were hiding inside the human bodies either, and she guessed that that was how they’d kept their numbers private. They were hiding in human skin, and she couldn’t tell the difference. One second she could see a man taken over and possessed, the next second the dark being poured like a shadow into another person.

  “Hide!” she told the people who were panicked and falling over one another.

  It was sheer chaos. Utter madness. She could only pick at the demons she could see, grabbing them with her magic and then slicing them through when she caught hold. It was a tireless work. Grab, stab, toss aside. She set tiny traps of light upon the ground as she jogged, willing them to catch any of the Vulzos. She barricaded healthy people in the houses and set shields around them. The more shields she created, the larger the strain. Every time the beasts scratched at her shields, it was like a finger plucking at a string.

  Catryn secured one area after the next. She could only stop briefly to work healing magic into wounded people. A woman was cowering against the wall, hand over a spurting belly. She worked quickly to mend the tissues. But there were too many. All she could do was round them up and shield them. Once she’d tied down yet another shield, she kept going. She watched as the smoke beasts flew through the air overhead. The sun caused them to be glaringly obvious. She sent shards of Astra up through their bodies, and they fell into mush and vapor on the ground.

  As she came around the bend into yet another complex, a stone building was crumbling. She used Vermora to fix it and shuttered the screeching humans inside. She was sweating, and the strain was great upon her soul. She could feel the Vulzonic magic like a tickle to her head whenever one of her shields was being attacked.

  Get me Sarth! She ordered.

  They’re gone. Glend replied, and she could tell that he was stomaching shock.

  She was so stunned that for a moment she stopped. Why would he leave? How could he be so irrevocably stupid? Where would they even go? She sensed the attack before she could react, but just as the demon was about to latch its wide jagged-toothed mouth around her head, something stopped it. A purple cloak fluttered in the wind, and she recognized the black hair instantly. Kalif had stopped the beast from hurting her. But she watched with horror from behind him as he fell to the ground. The creature had struck him through the chest with its giant claw. The metal had caved in, crushing his chest and allowing the darkness to pierce him.

  She lifted him to the side and peered down into his eyes.

  “Why?” she asked him, just as the warm humanity slipped out of his face. Grayness spread across him. She staggered back. A sinuous black smoke beast came struggling out of his body. She gasped, unable to comprehend what was happening. He was...touched by Vulzon? He was his? Then why save her? How could he offer her his loyalty if he was born of dark magic? He looked perhaps a bit more developed than the other beasts that were savaging Jurdu. Only slightly more human, like the lines of him were not merely smoke and embers, but taut lines where his masculine body used to conform looked like dark flesh.

  Before she could say anything else, Kalif flashed away. It was like she hadn’t just witnessed a man die, a black smoke beast leave his body, and then leave his mortal shell to rot.

  She couldn’t stop. People continued to die. She wrangled a few more areas before meeting Maru in a back alley. Her arrows volleyed towards the creatures. Catryn ran awkwardly, stepping and leaping over bodies. She cut through countless more beasts with her white blade. Black blood coated the ground and establishment walls, and her burgundy cloth garments were sticky and stained black. Her skin itched with the sting of it as if their blood were poison.

  “I think we nearly have them!” Maru called to her as they sheared the last few waves of darkness like a blade cutting grass. They worked efficiently, limbs cutting and pulling, bobbing and weaving, lunging and swerving. She sputtered as a splash of blood sloshed across her head and hair.

  Maru stopped to listen once they’d killed off the last. Catryn’s breath came heavy, and she shut her eyes, noting that there were no longer tiny twinges picking at the shielded human groups across the city. She let out a hollow shaking breath, releasing the magic from those places and letting her white blade dissipate. Maru was shaking, and Catryn felt anguish burn in her throat. The woman had been cut and stabbed, and she saw pricks of blood where she’d sustained injuries. One on her back, the other across her thigh.

  “Maru...” Catryn hurried to her side. She caught the woman around the waist and held her.

  She pushed healing magic out through the pads of her fingers, pressing into the wounds. Maru sighed as if she were relieved. Deep emotion stirred in her chest as she remembered their moments in the cave together.

  Maru was fearless, and perhaps she should have been afraid given that she was facing almost certain death coming into the thick of battle. Catryn embraced her tightly, confusion, anxiety, and horror spiraling inside of her.

  The Djinn had gone. Kalif was...in a sense, dead. And now they stood over countless bodies. Both Yamarian and demon alike. At least now it was over. Now they would leave Yamar and regroup.

  “I’ll be fine, Peacequeen,” the woman grit her teeth. “You did well.”

  Catryn’s throat tightened. She let out a breath.

  “So did you.”

  Catryn.

  Catryn.

  Cat.

  Three voices stalled her, the warning in their tones deafening. She felt the blood rush to her head.

  They’re h
ere. Valryn said.

  Catryn forced her way into his mind. She could see through his eyes. They were out overlooking the walls of Jurdu. On the horizon, a storm rode. Sand was engulfing the land, and at the bottom, endless black demon Djinn hastened towards them. The earth nearly thundered, quaking with the weight of the demons marching across the russet sand. Their army was a black line eclipsing the panoramic desert.

  Give us magic. Valryn implored. We need something. Anything. We have to be able to help.

  I don’t know how! She nearly screamed.

  We’re coming. Darrian told her.

  She and Maru waited in the hushed city. People had begun to find family members, and others tried to finish packing their things. There were low moaning cries from the wounded. No one would survive this. Vulzon would win. Catryn felt something strange build up inside her. She released Maru and tried to slow her breathing as the men hurried down marble halls and bedecked archways. She kept a conscious tab upon them until finally, they were there.

  They stood before her, so painfully human. So vulnerable. This was wrong. They weren’t meant to be useless to her.

  The sensation that was building within her was unrecognizable. The gods and goddesses hummed like malignant fates.

  There in the middle of the ruined streets, she went to Valryn, then Darrian, then Glend. She tore back their armor and focused upon the brands on their shoulders. She recalled the dance of light that had sealed where the iron had burned them, she remembered her shaking hands, the contempt she felt for having to do it. She recalled the first unveiling of their souls. Before, they’d been so blocked. Now they were conjoined. Minds, souls...and, she touched Valryn’s shoulder gently, their bodies would be as well.

  She began to hassle the magic as if it were an elixir she could scoop up and pour out. A thin fine dust of it communed with the brand on his shoulder. Sounds of the coming armies, the like the buzzing of a million bees, made the magic flow quicker. The power settling into the then glowing lines, and he stumbled.