Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He passes his hand over the blunt, flat studs and a curl of white smoke comes up. Then, he flips over his palm to display a rime of frost across it. The skin bubbles black, then heals before my eyes. “But you must be cautious. Too much can be fatal.”
I know this too well.
“Yes, Guardian. I’ll remember. Thank you, Guardian.” My throat is parched, and my body is weak. I must rely on the stinging vines for stability, but there is no shifting to make them more comfortable. They tilt me again, tipping me back and raising my knees, holding me wide open.
“You were worried that you haven’t been penetrated by a cock before,” he says, turning to the disturbingly fleshly ones he’s left on the table. “I think you’re correct; you do need the experience before we go to court, and frankly, before we continue our lessons here.”
The one in his hand is huge, easily as wide as my own fist, and I silently beg him, no, not that one. Not this.
The corners of his mouth unfurl a grin and I know that he’s seen my fear plainly. “I do have a centaur’s, if this is too small.”
He moves as if to retrieve it and I shriek, “No! No, please, Guardian!”
“You needn’t fear this.” He holds the appendage up. It looks even larger upright. “It will fit. And if it does not, I can always repair the damage. You’ll be traumatized, of course—”
I sob aloud.
“Oh, my honey flower, I’m only teasing.” He beckons the vines at my feet, and one rises up between my legs again. It wraps around the phallus and holds it tight while he sprinkles more of the potion from the ampoule onto it. I watch, eyes wide, as the thorns shed from the plant and it fuses to the cock. It waves menacingly close to my unguarded center. Luthian brushes it aside and touches his fingertips to my slit. “You’re positively dripping.”
Despite the pain I’ve endured, the fear and the helplessness I’ve experienced at his hands, the words make me wetter.
Perhaps because of the fear and pain. Is it possible that violence is, to me, as arousing as gentleness?
He goes to his potions and returns with an unguent in a pot. “This will help ease the way,” he assures me, scooping out a large dollop on his fingers. He slaps it onto my parted flesh and spreads it about my folds as if his hand is a trowel. The matter-of-fact way he applies it makes it almost redundant, because my arousal grows more as he treats me like an object to be prepared for use.
Then, he scoops out more and his hand glides lower. I tense, but the thorny vines urge my cheeks apart and hold them open; Luthian smooths a liberal amount of the ointment there, too, and I shudder in embarrassment. I can’t imagine what the purpose of it could be.
Then he pushes his fingertip forward, and I understand.
He goes to the table and picks up the other, smaller phallus.
I fight the vines, not caring how their thorns score my flesh. “No, no, you can’t—”
“I can’t?” He blinks at me.
At once, I understand that I’ve breached our contract, simply by denying him. I’ve allowed him to debase me, to violate me, to display me, to hurt me, and now with my words, I’ve wasted the opportunity he’s offered.
I can’t lose my revenge. I can’t lose my wishes.
I swallow and clear my throat, “You can’t mean to pleasure me with these, alone, Guardian. I wanted your cock in me. I’ve craved it since I tasted it this morning.”
“That’s what I thought you meant.” He nods in approval. “But you haven’t earned it. And I daresay, you wouldn’t survive the pleasure I would give you. Not yet.”
Not yet. The words tingle at the bottom of my feet, tease my tightened nipples. But I still recoil as I watch him grease the other phallus and walk behind me with the ampule.
“Do you know what creatures provided these?” He asks, walking around to lovingly stroke the monstrous vine between my legs.
“No, Guardian.” I’ve never even seen creatures other than faeries or humans, aside from in stories.
“The one behind you is a werewolf.” He crooks his fingers and the vine bearing the organ shifts over my shoulder. “You’ll notice the large bulb at the base. It will swell further when it’s inside of you.”
The cock-vine slinks out of view again.
“And this happy fellow is a vampire,” he says, patting the vine between my thighs. “See the bumps here?”
Nodules like pearls beneath the skin lie in a ridge from base to tip on the top and bottom of the shaft, ending at the bulbous head.
“You’ll like how those will feel,” he promises. He motions the vine forward, until the tip of the horrible thing touches me. I choke back my disgust. I’ve always assumed this moment would happen with someone, not something. And the vine, phallus and all, seems somehow aware of me and its purpose. It’s alive, but not, a creature of magic, nothing I can reason with.