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Chapter Thirty-Four
It's been a long time since I fucked real pussy.
This thought is at the forefront of my mind even as I press my eager tongue against Angelaria's cunt and relish in the play of fine pubic hair on my lips. I open and close my mouth, gnawing tenderly at the pink folds of delicate skin; she squirms on the bed. Talen gently holds her hands over her head, and Cory swabs at her firm nipples with his elvish tongue, licking and then blowing only to lick again once the goose pimples appear.
My left forearm presses her hip bone against the cum-stained sheets. I tease her moist labia over and over at the ten o'clock and two o'clock points, applying pressure and then inserting my tongue beneath the hood. I do all while stroking the slippery monster between my legs with one hand while using my other to finger her ever-expanding hole.
It's got to be much looser than this, I remind myself.
To my sweaty nose Angelaria smells like lavender; like sweet perfume. It rises to my nostrils on dry air, buoyed by currents from the window that smell of pure desert and ocean. The salt sea tang that I associate with semen intermingles with the aroma of the sticky fluid that excretes from her gently dilated opening.
"Uhhh," she moans, eyes fluttering. Talen kisses her on the lips. I smile and watch her tummy, moist with sweat, tremble with each flick.
"Fuck me," she begs. "Fuck me please. Kian, I can't stand it."
I move my hand out of the way, pressing it against her thighs as I stand. I leave a trail of water wherever I touch; my hand gleams with it. I don't know why, but I brush her tummy with my fingertips. She responds with gasps, like I'm tickling her, and even more of her wetness soaks into the already damp bed.
Her breath becomes short. More tickling. This time I reach behind her arched back and place my fingers to the right of her spine. A gasp. I relish the way her eyes roll back into her head. Angelaria's ribs press against her chest forcing those nice fuckable tits into the air and further into Cory's mouth.
What's a little love shared between friends?
Especially when my friends are this good-looking. "That's it," I say. "Tell me you want it."
Drawn by the sound of my voice, her emotion-filled eyes trace the length of my ripped torso to the erection dangling between my legs. Her expression is needful, wanting, but also incredibly fearful. So many sensations are pounding her brain that she can't express them. As hard as a rock, cum oozes from the gash in my mushroom head and the white royal jelly clings to the length of my dick skin like thick cream.
Attached to this god-like body is a virgin girl's worst nightmare.
"This may sting a little," I warn.
Lust overwhelms common sense; she nods eagerly. That's when I push inside her for the first time. It's weird watching my pale pink glans force its way inside. The effort forces veins to bulge from my shaft like thick worms. The rawness of it...the power of it...never ceases to amaze me.
"Tethyr's teeth," I swear, eyes wet with concentration.
I feel a burst. That's the cherry going "pop!" The hymen tears. There's a tiny amount of blood, which will further ruin the sheets.
Talen keeps her hands pinned as she struggles for breath to take me, but skin against skin glides easily together. I go in only four inches; my girth is such that I see the swell of my penis lifting up her skin. And by every god in heaven does it feel good. I'm right where I want to be, just behind the entrance at the back of the pubic bone.
Making love to a woman is different than fucking a man. Women are more demanding and don't favor a long deep thrust in the same way. Rather, it's all about pressure. I suck in my muscular belly and allow the back side of my penis to massage her from the inside with constant flirtatious pumps. It's times like these that I feel truly blessed because my dick's so huge it's like a small fist whose only purpose is pleasure in violation. Gently, I roll my hips from one side to the other, butt clenched tight with the effort. I press the bulk of my girth against her precious cul-de-sac and the throb of it in tune with my heartbeat drives her crazy.
"Milbar," she begs, saying the name of the God of Magic. "M-my...pussy...uhh..."
Is what I'm doing sorcery?
Of a kind, yes. And it's this kind of worship that I love to hear. Talen lets go of her hands and she brings them to her side, fingers forming claws. Then she viciously clutches the sheets. She does this while staring incomprehensibly at the vast lump that my cock head makes inside her now ravaged cunt.
I go a little deeper.
Pant, pant, pant.
Who's the dog now? The thought almost makes me chuckle, but that'd be SUPER awkward. I doubt Angelaria wants to know I'm imagining her as my bitch. But that doesn't stop me from making it true.
I touch a particularly sensitive spot, and she opens her mouth wide. All that primal sound her body urges her to make catches in her pale slender throat. Sweat gleams off her chest. "No," she begs at last. Then she turns her head into the pillow and bites down. Another squish of my meat makes her scream, "STOP!"
I force her hips to tilt slightly; the result is better access for a longer rub. I'm such a bastard.
That's when she wraps her legs around me. I've to be careful to keep approximately the same depth. I don't want to hurt her.
Talen licks behind my ears; Cory swabs my nipples and armpit with his tongue. Then he drops between my ass and cleans my butt with his mouth. I wonder what my balls look like swinging back and forth in front of his face.
Angelaria claws my back and chest, leaving a trail of red welts on my skin.
"I can take it," she says eagerly. "Fuck me, Kian. Fuck me like I'm a whore!"
I risk a couple more inches, but that's all. The feeling of the shaft of my cock gliding against her bulb is mind-blowing. Angelaria's hands make agonized fists over her pussy, hovering with nails an inch above it as if desperate to remove the thing that fucks her. She stares in disbelief at the swell I create just beneath the surface of her skin; it shifts back and forth and looks as if a dwarf's arm has been lodged in her belly. The veins in her neck stand out and her face flushes with color.
"It's so huge!" Another gasp; it's more frantic and urgent. Then follows, "M-Milbar! Save me!" and then tears.
Talen moves out of the way so that I can kiss her with my mouth. I whisper, "I love you," into her ears and then start to thrust, going in and out with speed but mindful to stay shallow. Because I'm Atlantean, each stroke makes me cum just a little. Before long, her torn vagina overflows with seed just like it's now starting to drip out of both Cory and Talen.
So much white; so many children spent on nothing.
It's MEN who command the power of life over death. Men like me.
Slap, slap, slap.
Speed and pressure...that's what I focus on. And I fuck her like this without end, rolling my hips and with constant weight on her pelvis. The majority of my dick never gets beyond her pussy lips. But with much of my time elevated on one hand, it gives Talen and Cory a good show as they lay there watching us conceive, watching my glistening shaft plunge repeatedly to the halfway mark that's now stained into my dick skin, much like the shore after a flood.
Angelaria's first gush arrives at the half hour mark. I've always been able to make girls squirt. Each woman has a different by-product. Hers arrives as a clear fluid; it mingles with my spunk, soaks her thighs, and coats my dick in sticky. The smell is alkaline. With exhaustion near and balls aching from an afternoon of breeding, I take this time to pull out and a tiny stream about a foot long splashes my waist and the grooves of my Apollo's belt. I stare at my handiwork; a thick white creamy discharge oozes from her gaping hole, and I smile with satisfaction.
If that doesn't get her preggers, I don't know what will.
Cory carefully removes my rubber hood and my sweaty hair clings to my forehead. Then Talen lets me drink from the pitcher.
That cool water tastes so awesome.
Outside the window the last sun sets.
"I'm so tired," I say to Talen as he French kisses me.
Angelaria's body FINALLY stops quaking, and she sits up on her elbows. "Rest in my arms, baby," she says. "You've earned it."
"I'll second that," Talen declares.
And so I rest, enjoying the love that I've earned by pleasing my friends. I nestle between my two lovers and relish the warmth of their satiny bodies against my own. Cory, though, goes back to the corner and begins to dress. "I'm going to clean up," he says. "But I thank you for the afternoon." He does wink at me even as I watch him pull on his trousers. Just like I predicted, a stain begins to form in his britches right above his stretched asshole. I take pride in this; when he slips out the door I can't help but notice he's walking bow-legged.
When sleep finally claims me, it only lasts a couple of hours. It's Cory who gently wakes me from my slumber with a gentle shake to the shoulder.
"You should bathe," he whispers, "this room smells like death."
I look at the tangled mess our limbs have become and slowly extricate myself from the still damp sheets. I manage to do so without waking my fuck buddies. "Tethyr's teeth we really did a number on this room," I whisper back while snatching my clothes off the floor.
I sniff my pits.
Yikes! Cory's right about that "death" comment.
That's when he hands me some fresh clothes.
"Get your others cleaned. I bought these for you." He smiles at me as I hand them over. The way the silver hair hangs in front of his eyes sure does make him look cute. "Next door, there's a steam house. You can get a bath there for a copper farthing."
"Thanks for the tip," I say.
I nod, get dressed, and take my clothes to Walid, the owner of the Inn, so he can have them washed. Then I go to bathe. Afterward (and feeling refreshed) I go to check on my clothes, which he previously indicated might be ready. Immediately inside the door of the washroom, there's a palpable rise in both temperature and humidity. Lye soap mixes with the unpleasant scent of dirty laundry, and the pungent combination is thick in the air. Off to one side, a gnome works his fingers carefully over a torn shirt, mending it with needle and thread. The gnome, who happens to be half my size, puts the article down and hands me my belongings, which are now parceled together in brown paper. Then he hands my magic boots back to me. They're shiny with black polish.
"Nice work," I say.
"Thank you," he replies.
I go back to the room and change into my old boots. Angelaria and Talen are still asleep; Cory's in a corner meditating. If not for the window, the stench of sex and body fluid would overwhelm everything. With half an hour before my scheduled meeting, I exit and find my way to the end of the hall where a balcony overlooks the street. A cool breeze blows in off the Sea of Daryabar and tugs at my black pants and my spotless blue shirt. Beneath this perch, patrols from the central Kasbahs pass by going about their nightly business. They're carrying torches to light the lamp posts that stand at different corners of the town square. It looks like a simple job in a simple city. Kaibar, for what it's worth, seems to be very much a crossroads of the world. A jewel if you will on the sea of fate.
Mondath's rise alerts me that midnight approaches and I depart (albeit wearily). My friends have left me with little energy for this adventure tonight, and I hope I won't need to be particularly keen. Outside, the cool air carries the tang of the sea. Waves roll in with the tide; they strike the beach with the cadence of a drum. The light from the silver moon is bright enough to bathe the avenue in a glow useful for thieves and assassins.
Seeing as I'm both, I own this town.
I run past the Kasbahs. On my left I pass a building with a wooden sign. It depicts a camel with its knees bent. Behind it a rosy sun dawns over a sand dune.
From within the establishment emerge sounds: a flute, some singing, some talking, and the occasional burst of laughter. Tankards thump heavily on wooden tables even at this late hour. Though I'm both curious and thirsty, I know I don't have time. It's probably midnight already and if anything I need to hasten my steps.
I race past a few other buildings. On one hangs a painted wooden sign decorated by three gold spheres. This is the traditional symbol used to identify a moneylender. I know from talking with Walid that just beyond the "bank" I can expect to find Jamila's Fish Market.
Careful not to attract attention, I crouch on the darkest side of the building.
Six men, each a little taller and broader across the shoulders than myself, guard the facade. They wear chainmail and carry loaded crossbows. One of them casts his eyes my direction, but I know he doesn't see me. Soon his gaze continues past and into the streets from which I've just come. I pause until the way looks clear for my move. That's when I sneak along the edges of the night, cognizant that only with well-placed footsteps can I remain hidden from their eyes.
Beyond the sentries and on the blind side of the gate stands the enormous building I take to house the fish market. I cross and test the wooden door with my right hand, back pressed up against the wall.
It's open.
Carefully, I slip inside.
The building's lit with a few candles. I spy ten tables with as many different kinds of dried fish as I have hairs on my head. Past them and toward the back of the room there's a counter where a large woman works at cleaning knives. As I approach, I notice a large chunk of ice with several fish suspended in the middle.
I clear my throat (which has been feeling sore since this afternoon) and she looks up obviously startled.
"You're the one Mahmud sent, aren't you?" She drops a cleaver on the butcher block; it sticks point first. "You're a little late."
"I'm sorry," I lie, and with a raspy voice. "I didn't get any rest this afternoon and overslept."
She nods with understanding. "The vizier is generally not a patient man, but for you? He MAY make an exception. He likes boys who are as graceful as a gazelle. Follow me."
I skirt past the counter and fall-in behind her, looking to the shadows for anything that might be suspicious. As we exit the shop through the rear, I note several large crates piled one on top of another. I can only assume they're probably filled with more dried fish.
"Where do you get the ice from?" I ask.
Jamila locks the door behind us. "A down-and-out wizard who lives along the coast catches and freezes the fish for me and then transports them through some magical spell he uses. I pay him fifty gold drachmas for the job. Even still, I make a handsome profit. The Caliph of Kaibar pays well for fresh fish, and the freezing process leaves the taste indistinguishable from that you'd harvest from the sea on the same day. What's your name, kid?" she asks.
"Hunter," I reply.
"I see," the fat woman comments. "I think the vizier will not be so cross with you after all."
"Why do you say that?" I ask.
"A hunch, my dear. A hunch." Jamila walks across the street and past several more houses and stores; I trail her with caution. We skirt past what I think is a wainwright. I smell wood and sawdust, glue and grease, iron and leather. It's a peculiar mixture, this scent. As further evidence, I spot three carts outside in various stages of repair. There are spare wheels of diverse sizes, axles, planks, assorted woodworking tools, and metalworking implements lying about the yard.
But it's what I see beyond that commands my attention: a huge and very lush hedgerow.
The imposing structure is taller than I (and this even if I stretch my arms as far as I can and stand on my toes). The top of it is perfectly even and well maintained. We walk the perimeter, seldom speaking, until an opening appears. This is the beginning of a five-foot wide path that cuts through the hedge itself. Dense and thick with rigid leaves that look sharp to the touch, in a moment of foolishness I brush my fingertips against the wall. I recoil in brief pain as it slices me. I hope that I won't have to climb this thing anytime tonight or in the near future.
On the inside two bare-chested men greet us.
"They're mamluks," she whispers into my ear. The fact she seems to know them temporarily assuages my fears. "Sworn protectors and slaves of the vizier. He'll be waiting for you at the center of the maze. It's not difficult to navigate."
And with that, Jamila turns and exits through the gate.
I'm alone. Okay, I didn't quite expect this.
I gather my wits about me and regard the silent visages of the slave warriors with suspicion. These two hulks literally tower over me; they easily double my mass. Swallowing spit which forms in the recess of my mouth, I press on by choosing to hug the inside of the outer wall.
The maze is dark and lit only by the occasional moonbeam from above. The silver light filters through leaves at the edge to provide a meager pathway for me to follow.
But my navigation must be great, because after a few minutes I hear voices. Growing more confident that one of these is the vizier, I choose corridors I feel have the best possibility to lead me to them. Sometimes, I come up a dead end and am forced to circle back. But my persistence eventually pays off. After what seems like hours (and at the point of frustration) I arrive at the center. It's marked by torches that ring a section of stone seats.
At one of these is a black man with a turban on his head. This in turn is festooned with a black jewel. I'm going to hazard a guess and say it's jet. He's flanked by three mamluks who I assume own the voices I heard earlier. In contrast to these "bodyguards" the regal man with the turban is thin and wiry. Dressed in much finery, I note his expensive ivory-colored clothes, dotted here and there with shiny pearls. He obviously treasures all things white and am reminded of my creamy skin. Maybe he'll like me.
"Have you come alone?" he asks with a somewhat effeminate accent.
"I have," I say, "and I've brought money so that you can give me the writ I need."
"Not so fast," the vizier says with a playful tone. "Come," he says patting the stone chair. "It's rare I get to speak to such a pretty young man. Tell me, did you like the hedgerow maze?"
I think about it for a moment. "It wasn't difficult. But is there a reason for the game? It seems to me that this isn't the most efficient meeting place to conduct proper business."
"Perhaps. But I'm the Vizier of Kaibar, my young," he pauses to lick his lips, "handsome youth. If I were discovered delivering our state treasures into the hands of foreigners, the caliph of this town might have me executed."
I stare at him but can't think of an appropriate answer. He regards me from head to toe and then asks one of the mamluks to bring over a goblet filled with a dark liquid.
"This is honey mead," he says. "It's a delicacy among my people and is the traditional manner we use to guarantee a business deal." He removes a piece of parchment from his clothes. Even from where I stand I can see that it's sealed with wax. He's obviously pressed his signet into its surface. "A full writ of permission, if you will," he states, "for visitors to the pyramid of the lost Pharaoh Djoser."
"Thank you," I say, stepping forward to snatch the paper from his fingers. "How much do I owe you?"
"One-hundred golden drachmas," he declares.
I gasp. "I haven't that much."
He purses his lips. "How much do you have my cute puppy?" I pull out the purse Talen gave me after dinner. It contains all the remaining wealth we managed to save, pilfer, and acquire since day one of this journey.
"About half that," I answer.
Unfortunately, my words are the utter and complete truth. I despise poverty.
"Hmm," he says. "We're in a predicament, but I sense good faith about you. I think that if I let you go with the writ that you'll return to me on your way back and pay me the other fifty. Is this correct?"
I think about it for a moment. "I'm a man of my word. If you'll take that here, I swear before the gods I'll pay you what's owed as soon as I'm able."
"Done," he says. Then he takes the goblet from the mamluk and sips from it before passing it to me. "To seal our bargain before the gods!"
I crack a smile and hand him the purse with the money in it. Then I take a swig from the cup. I discover rather quickly that it's ordinary wine, only a little thicker than I'm used to and very sweet.
"Take a deep drink," the black man says. "It's a sign of our commitment to each other."
I follow his suggestion and drain the cup of half its contents.
"Excellent," the vizier declares. "Let me send one of my mamluks with you to show you the quickest way out of the maze."
"Thank you once again, sir," I tell him, managing a bow.
One of the mamluks removes himself from the company of the vizier and motions for me to follow. I try to do so, feeling exhaustion weigh about my shoulders and head; soon the world starts to spin. My gaze drops to each of his footsteps, which seem to be moving away from me even though I'm trying my best to keep up.
Twice we end up at a dead end, but I think he's just making mistakes.
Wait a minute, I suddenly realize, shouldn't he know how to get out of here?
I stop and wobble in place, the walls twisting around my head like a crazy top. I grip hold of the hedge, cutting open my fingers, and try to sort things through. The mamluk looks at me calmly.
I wave him off by saying, "Just got a bit of a dizzy spell is all." But I only barely manage to stammer this out. Then I take a step, but my legs feel like they're lead. That's when I stumble for the last time and fall face first into the sand.
The last thing I remember is the mamluk grabbing hold of me and throwing me over his shoulder like a bag of turnips.
Next week I'll post Chapter 35.