Naberoa
I could still taste herbac, peppery and cool against the iron of her blood.
My blood.
Our mixed blood.
I consciously lick my lower lip, where red oozed, feeling a subtle pain and the pierced flesh.
A silent breath leaves me as I eye her, tracing everything from her eyes to bosom, then from her thighs and waist. It was her large cock pressed between us that I gazed, up to the very tip.
So close, so hot, steely and firm. Through the silky undergarments, my lumin, I could feel Thelamein’s throbbing length, sensing heat through my heavily wet sex. Something of its sight drove me senseless, and my undulations grew desperate, the pressure to our bases pushing deeper, but the aching would not–could not–abate.
Not like this.
So close, so right. Around the base of Thelamein’s shaft, my hand rubs through natural lube, her lube. The organ which made the substance lay underneath her groin, something present in all women but more pronounced in loyieda. In a way, it felt as viscous as Sinaht’s, more so than Selphie’s, more so than others.
So. Close. She was so horney, her breath shaky, the scent overwhelming, and it penetrated my muted mind, so deeply that I purposely moaned.
Just for her. Just for me.
For us.
With my other hand, I drench it in the lube, my touch causing her to buck, and with both I firmly grasp her cock and begin messaging, from tip to base, a near rush as I feel pulsing, a heat coursing from deep inside. She tries biting her lower lip, flinching from her wound–my mark–, her hands tugging us closer, gentle but firm against my rear, calloused hands against soft, silky fabric and clean skin. It was a kind of possessiveness that I longed for, a passion just for me.
I splay one of my wet hands on her stomach, balancing myself as I rise to my feet, the cushions compressing under my weight, a careful balance with high heels. Her hands slide to my thighs for balance, her glacier eyes wandering from my own down to my soaked sex, and bending down I reach for hers, my other hand stretching aside the panty, mild air biting away at my opening.
Her member I pull back by its tip, softly pinched in my fingers, and I lower myself.
Down.
Down.
There.
A shudder rushes through me, a gasp of pleasure leaves her. I feel my vulva stretch as her length eases in, the head brushing my clit, engulfed in a second. The sparks were profound.
It was not enough.
Down.
Down.
And down.
Sinking lower we merge, her cock filling me, its warmth spreading from deep inside to my very surface. It was so much that my own gasps were as involuntary as hers.
“Naberoa… Nabe… how… do you feel?”
The voice of a siren pierced my psyche. I was so lost in the moment, my sight had been shuttered, my head titled back to the arch of my back, and looking down I saw worry, the emotion mixed with her ecstasy.
“Does this… hurt?” she elaborated.
Further down I move, seeing the bulge of her member along my stomach, and in shifting my legs, swaying my hips, I force a deep groan from her. It was so curious and endearing that she would care for something so small.
“This feels wonderful,” I breathed.
“Ā, scīte, ā, fucc!” she whimpers in that ancient tongue.
Further down, I feel myself press against Thel’s base, the sensation of full insertion being a mix of discomfort with heated stimulation, an urge that spurted from our foreplay and my own desire. Her core became mine, a fuel to my own hormones.
I lost myself.
Crying and mewling, the spasms took me, so powerful it rivaled my moments with Sinaht. The seconds tick, the contractions tighten, the sparks intensify. Time dilated in that moment, her groans joining my chorus, her penis stiffening inside me, its sudden twitch pulling me forth as I bury myself into her neck and cleavage. My arms slip around Thelamein’s back, my nails digging into her shoulders, hers into mine with a firm grip, strong and possessive, pulling me down.
The moment gave way to clarity, the same, strong awareness penetrating that eternal moment, and I knew something to be off.
Her length again twitched, pulsating in rhythm to my heart (strange that), on the edge but having not released, and I felt it, from its very tip to the fluids that coated my inside.
I had to be certain. “Did… did you cum?”
“N-no,” she breathed. “I… wait…”
Wait? Wait for what?
I peel myself away, lifting my head so our eyes meet, seeing hers half lidded but desperate. My thoughts raced through gray matter and neural processors, a million and more, straining my head before relaxing, realizing what she meant.
Leaning in, I press my lips to Thel’s, eliciting a whimper. “You are too sweet.”
My hips begin to move. “Nabe–” she begins.
We kiss again, and again, and again, slithering my tongue in to taste the herbac, pulling away as I started trailing my presses along her chin, slowly down her neck, then to her breast, my bend exerting pressure to her cock within me, her twitching, heated cock. It was the taste of that sweaty musk, an earthy, sappy scent of winter trees that drove me forth.
“Fūc, þǣr rihte, bīt þǣr rihte!” Thelamein sings as I nibble her tit, caressing and messaging with fingers and tongue, feeling how hard her nipple was, and her own efforts drove my own movements. I feel hands land on my ass and lower back, sensing her hips start to move.
A sudden nudge forward brought out a wondrous melody from her, a series of pronounced pulses from her length, and from me my own second orgasm.
Fire filled me, from my belly to lower lips. I felt it spread, from one spurt, and another, and another, and another, a heavy stream which elicited a series of deep sighs and trembles, my insides rippling and pulsing in her rhythm. Through my legs I clench hers, with my hands I dig into her back and breast, and my head I bury into her bosom. This primal sensation overwhelmed me. It was as though I was melting from the inside, merging into Thel and she into me. From the pleasure, a sense of wholeness and belonging followed.
We are one.
“Scīt… scīt… hel… fucc… wundorlīc,” she rasped.
Gasping breaths and heaving chests took us both. It was a momentary exhaustion from the overwhelming sensations.
Pushing myself from her and looking down, I saw my abdomen had inflated somewhat, and that from the edges of my vulva cum seeped, enveloping my clit, coating our sexes and groins, soaking my panties. I felt it hot from there, the smell like gray bark, and the sight sent a shiver along my spin.
I pressed myself down.
This wasn’t enough.
Neither for me, neither for Thelamein, for I felt her writhe and churn, her cock still stiff. Our eyes met, hers filled with wanton need.
Calloused hands slid up along my back, moving to unclasp the bra which gave me a now unwanted decency. When it came loose, the delicate piece was flung off to the side, and she started ravishing my bare breasts. I press myself in.
“You… like this?” Thelamein asked.
Between the breaths, I groaned, “Yes.”
“And… this?” She teases with a kiss.
I guide her to the side, signaling for an adjustment. “Yes.”
She nibbles one on its side, lifting us as she pivots and lies herself down, having to shift a pillow for her head with a free arm. “Is this good?”
“Perfect,” I utter, sighing as she licks the edge of the areola.
“And this?” Thelamein begins to suckle on my nipple.
“Yeees.” I lean in, letting her rest so she need not lean up. Untucking one of my hands from her back, I began groping myself on the same boob.
The movements were slow, slow enough for the sensation to be drawn out.
I couldn’t help but smile.
To see how far I’ve come, to experience this moment, was pure, vindictive, bliss. All those years observing, from the immaterial and material, without that touch. All those years seeing that blue haired bitch with her. All those years of ridicule from my “sisters.” No love, no empathy. My efforts, the sacrifices I made, the things I’ve lost, the betrayals I’ve endured, let this be my reward.
And to think you could keep her all to yourself, you and your child?
With her on my other breast, at her kiss, I rose, scooting back so our bases were firm and together, groaning against the stiffness of her length, splaying my hands against her abdomen, and from there I motioned my hips in slow circles.
“Nabe?”
I looked down toward my prize, deep into her cyan eyes. “Relax, grab my hips.”
“Thelamein”
We must have gone at it for another hour.
I understood, now, there was more to her than the cold, expressionless composure, for there were moments where emotion broke through, and I could see past the facade. In her eyes, the breaths she took, the movements she made, I saw something there. In a way she did care, and like the other girls, knew how to show it.
Or maybe I’m overthinking it.
Neither of us left that couch, that at some point we cuddled (disjoined for her sake), falling asleep as the lights dimmed on their own, the air warming as though sensing our lack of blankets or clothes. I was too engrossed with her scent, a musk like western junipers with a fermented açaí–the lavender having faded–, too attached to the smoothness of her sweaty skin and flowing hair to suggest a shower and my bed. The way her ass pressed against my junk also felt nice.
When I awoke in the late-morning, it was in the master bedroom under a silky sheet, still dirty and naked. Besides it not being my original sleeping spot, nothing stood out as being off, that only the scene beyond the window took me: a march of towering storm clouds rolling by under the radiance of an iridescent wall, like a reverse waterfall above flashes of lightening and thick showers, something which rose high into the stratosphere.
What also took me was that Naberoa wasn’t present.
At some point, she must have carried me and tucked me away then left. The fact she managed that feat without waking me seemed impressive, even considering how heavy of a sleeper I am.
The only evidence of her existence were of the indents on the sofa, the smells of açaí and juniper, the excessive cum stains (especially on me), and my flung articles–the turtle neck, pants, and socks–; with hers nowhere to be seen. Her black bag wasn’t even present.
Damn, she couldn’t stay?
My tongue traced the wound on my lip, now a profuse scab, and I somewhat flinched. With how deep she bit, it was almost certain it would heal as a scar. It would be her mark as much as Saevel’s now.
Rather than mope on her absence and my current isolation, I felt only elation and a new sense of profound energy. Why the previous nights hadn’t given the same sensation might have been from the giddiness of (likely) seeing her again, or the fact some part of me knew this wasn’t a simple onenight stand. How could it be?
Why should it be? There seemed to be no reason for her to leave, and she appeared to be really attracted to me. That alone made last night more than just a good fuck. It was much more than that.
Life as a sex slave now seemed more tolerable.
Standing in the middle of the living room, stretching out my arms and back, I surveyed our mess. Part of me felt bad for the maids that would have to clean up. The least I could do is some of the wash work.
Should have asked Dara or the maids where a washer or dryer are…
Come to think of it, where are they taking the dirty laundry? I must have been through 7 bed sheets and multiple pairs of underwear, and that wasn’t accounting for the other girls.
Just as I was removing the lining of the couch cushions, there was chime, and before I could cover myself the double-set door slid open. Two maids (not the same ones from days ago), strode in with the usual cart, and they got a full view of me.
“Oh… [hello]?” I offered lamely.
One turned profusely red, the other shifting her head, her eyes remaining affixed on me.
A/N: Two hundred and fifty-three likes! I know this may not seem like much, but this have given me a huge ego boost.
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