Stormy Night Publications Publishers of BDSM and Kink Erotica
He is always the same when he comes for me: stoic, imposing, towering over me with his height and size. But I’m not the same. I wonder if he knows this, when he comes for me today and I stand, ready to leave with him. I haven’t given in to him, but I’m less sure that my resolve will last with each passing day.
I don’t fear him; he never hurts me except to discipline me. He tortures me with pleasure, with a refusal to let me have the release that I crave. My first days in his dungeon are a blur, a feverish dream.
We walk to the dungeon in silence. It’s a long walk. He has placed a training implement in my ass, each day increasing the size, each day subjecting me to a humiliating enema, then inserting a larger implement with a jeweled knob at the end. As I walk, the object presses inside of me, stimulating me in ways that are both humiliating and intensely erotic. I tell myself to hate it, to hate him, but when the door to my room opens and I see him, my body reacts with arousal and need. My chest gets tight, my heart races, and butterflies erupt in my stomach.
In my room, in the semi-darkness of night—almost always bright, because full moons on this moon are full planets, and the planet we orbit is a blue gas giant, always glowing somewhere in the sky serenely—all I can think of as I lie there is him.
But giving in to Rysethk would mean that I lose him. If I surrender to his training, if I beg him to release me from his torturous pleasure, if I obey him as my body wants to—then I will be declared ‘trained,’ and I will be married to Zethki and bred. And so I continue to resist, trapped in this endless cycle of desire that I cannot give in to.
“Good morning,” I tell him cheerfully, when he arrives. I don’t know how long I have been here. The days are different; the time that passes is measured by travels around a planet and not a sun. Maybe weeks, in Earth time.
He says nothing. My cheerfulness is my defiance, and he seems unaffected by it. He gestures for me to enter the corridor and begin our lengthy walk. I know how to maneuver these corridors by heart now. I spend my time mapping what I see, cataloging the possible escape routes. I’m allowed to use the pool and take walks in a large garden with Trasmea by my side. During these excursions, and at night when we are alone, I get information from Trasmea, disguising my intentions as mere interest in the land and the people. I have learned that there is an ocean nearby, I have seen over the garden wall. I have learned that there are cities along the coast, that they can be reached by foot in several days. I have even learned which plants I can eat, and I learn more every day by asking Trasmea questions, explaining that I’m a biologist, pretending to have given up hope of ever leaving.
Rysethk is somber today. He’s always somber, but he seems more so than usual. Maybe it seems crazy, but I can feel like his mood transfers to me through the air. It makes my skin tingle when he walks behind me, and that tingle always has the flavor of his sentiments. Maybe it’s all bullshit—in fact, it almost certainly is—but today he feels different. More serious, almost distracted.
When we step into his dungeon, I slip the robe from my shoulders without being asked. I do this to show him that I’m not afraid of him, not about to be broken. I don’t admit to myself that this is an easy gesture, because I have begun to crave his possession of my body, his control over me.
The robe falls to the floor and I step out of the pile to climb onto the table. Our sessions always begin like this, with me on all fours. He straps me to the table, and places a collar around my neck that he tugs when I fail to maintain the position he wants me in.
He begins by putting his fingers on the jeweled knob of the implement in my ass, pushing on it, slowly tipping it down, then up, then side to side. An ache builds inside of me, and my pussy never fails to well up with excitement. He twists it, awakening the insides of my most intimate places, reminding my flesh of the contours of the implement, of the raw desire that had almost dulled overnight. He fucks me slowly with it, and I get wetter. I no longer try to fight this, there isn’t any point.
Then, slowly, he removes the implement. An agony grips me when it leaves my ass, the emptiness that replaces its shape is all-encompassing. He then gives me an enema, filling me again, satisfying my desires for a few minutes. And then he takes it all away from me again, emptying me, and our day of pleasurable torture begins, as I’m trained to please Kerz males.
Today, he lingers on the implement, slowly moving it in and out of my ass, until I mewl and my hips begin to move. I’m not even aware that I’m doing this until he places a hand on my lower back. “Be still,” he growls.
I obey, like a reflex. I want to obey him, and my body follows his commands before my brain has time to realize that I want to resist. His hand is firm on my lower back but he cannot stop the motion of my body that way. He fucks me with the implement a few times before I begin to resist him again, mewling, sweat gathering at my temples. I wish that he would lose control and fuck me, that I could feel his cock inside of me, his body against mine.
He swats my right buttock—hard. The sting of it is sharp and I suck in my breath, enjoying the wave of heat that spreads over my skin. It only makes me less able to control myself, and I move my hips again, pushing backward to drive the implement deeper into my ass. When I buck against his hand and the resistance pushes against my anus, I howl in pleasure.
He slaps my ass again, this time more firmly.
“Oh!” I yelp, but I can hear in my own voice what he must surely hear, too: I like to be spanked. It only makes me hotter, I only crave it. When he spanks me roughly, until my skin is burning and itchy, and then rubs the heat into my body with his hands, my pussy pours juices down my thighs. He knows this… how could he not?
“I have commanded you to be still,” he growls, spanking me again, three sharp swats in rapid succession. They only make me squirm more. But he doesn’t stop me, not really; his fingers drop to the knob and curl beneath it, and without his claws extended, his fingertips brush against my clit as I rock my hips and begin to fuck the implement myself. Because of where his fingers are, he’s stimulating me, and I’m getting closer and closer to an orgasm. I can’t stop now; I have been craving to come at his touch for weeks now.
He continues to spank me, but the spanking only drives me wilder. My skin is on fire, and every slap stings more than the one before, sending waves of sharp, burning pain over my ass, rolling waves of heat reaching all the way up my back and down my thighs. I continue to disobey him, fucking the implement. He holds it so that I can, and doesn’t stop me.
“Oh,” I whisper, feeling an orgasm shuddering to life deep in my abdomen. My eyes are wet with tears, and this only makes me add to them. “I’m so close,” I hear myself saying. “Please, don’t stop me, don’t stop…”
I’m begging. I realize it, and I wish I could stop myself or take it back. But I keep bucking, and his fingers slip over my engorged clit and my ass squeezes tight on the implement, all while he delivers smack after smack on my fiery skin.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, fucking the implement harder.
I’m so close.
He is not stopping me.
And then suddenly he grunts, and his hand lands on my ass and stays there. His claws extend, and I feel them against my skin. He squeezes my flesh, and pulls the implement out with one swift motion. “No!” I say, panicked, as my orgasm stalls, painfully, deep between my legs. I wriggle, but he places another hand on my hip and holds me in place.
“Be still as I commanded you,” he growls.
I howl, and drop my head. I can no longer move. I feel my ass pulsing, trying to squeeze around something, and I feel empty. My body screams for relief. Tears well up in my eyes. I sob. He squeezes more firmly, and I’m locked in place with his hands against my hot, burning flesh. My pussy is so wet that I can feel trickles of my juices rolling down the inside of my thighs.
“Please,” I sob miserably. “Please. I’ll do anything that you want. Just please, please, don’t stop… don’t leave me here…”
I can’t believe what I’m saying. But I can’t stop myself. I know this is what he wanted, to break me, and I don’t want to give him what he wants. A voice in my head is screaming this at me, but my limbs shake with the dissatisfaction, the pain of no release.
He is still holding on to my ass, my flesh burning. He begins to knead it, and I let out a long, terrible wail.
“I give up,” I say. “Please. I give up. I will do what you tell me to, just please let me come,” I beg. My limbs are shaking.
He says nothing, but I feel his hands slide over my skin, the claws a feathery, deadly touch that sends shivers all over my body. He pressed the smooth, curved outside of one claw against the tender ring of my anus and slowly makes a circle around my gaping asshole.
“You will do anything that I want,” he growls.
I’m not sure if this is a question or a statement.
It doesn’t matter.
“Please,” I repeat. I don’t know what I’m pleading for. I want him inside of me, I want him to claim me. I will fall on my knees and pleasure him, I will do anything.
It’s only at this moment that I realize he has never strapped me to the table. For a moment, I whimper breathlessly, and his finger moves around my ass before he stops and grips my buttock.
I move my feet, and then I move without thinking. I turn, getting onto my ass and facing him.
He is staring at me. He doesn’t stop me, only stands with his hands at his sides, his chest moving in deep breaths. Everywhere that he’s marked by the reptilian yellow kryth, he glows, his eyes wide and feral, filled with something I have never seen before.
Terror is inside of me as I scoot toward him, but it’s like the terror of heights that I feel on the glass bridge; I know, somehow, that I’m safe from it. My feet drop off the table, and he steps toward me, a snarl on his lips.
I don’t know where the impulse comes from, or how I’m brave enough to do it; I reach out with a trembling hand and place a fingertip on his kryth, on his bare forearm.
The effect on him is immediate: he sucks in his breath and his entire body tenses. From where my finger touched him, a streak of yellow-green flashes along the patterns on his arm, snaking up to his neck, and his body seems almost jolted by electricity.
“Anya,” he growls, a note of warning in his voice.
I move my finger along his kryth. Between his legs, his cock is swelling, I can see it bulging. It pulses with his kryth. The skin is like velvet beneath my fingertips, and somehow it delivers immense pleasure to me—the pleasure travels through my fingers and up to my heart, down my spine, to the center of my legs, where it pulses, raw and needy.
We are staring at each other. I’m not breathing. I feel a vibration inside of him, traveling through his kryth. It’s a dangerous game that I’m playing, and somehow I sense this—Rysethk’s control seems to be slipping. I try to tell myself to stop, remind myself that he’s almost seven feet tall, pure muscle, with claws and no compunction about murder. That he could crush me in his hands.
But then I feel, almost as suddenly, empowered.
He can’t hurt me. It’s a taboo that he cannot break, under punishment of death. This is all according to Trasmea, but I believe her.
I reach with my other hand for the clasps on his robe. He growls again, but he now seems to be in a trance-like state, unable to think, unable to stop me.
I unfasten the first one, and then the second. His kryth is pulsing and hot, the energy in it growing with each second. The vibration is stronger, his growl louder. In my stomach, the very real possibility that he will tear me to shreds makes my stomach flutter, but I keep going, driven by the ache between my legs.
The robe opens, bit by bit, and he lets me do it while he grits his teeth and growls like an animal. Beneath the robe, his skin is almost entirely covered in kryth, which shimmers and glows. I move further, and the last clasp is opened, freeing his cock. I don’t look down at it, but I can feel it against my thigh when it springs loose.
I meet his eyes and I’m mesmerized by them. I lean forward, driven by a desire to place my tongue on his pulsing yellow kryth. I’m drawn to this by a force deep inside of me, nowhere near my consciousness.
His eyes are on mine, swallowing me whole, when I lean in and place my tongue on the golden, pulsing skin. It moves beneath my tongue, pulsing independently of the inky skin that surrounds it. I put my hands on his arms and grip them, and I can feel his raw energy beneath my palms. His muscles tense, and his face contorts into a snarl, but it doesn’t frighten me. Somehow I know what I’m doing, and it isn’t angering him.
I can feel what I’m doing to him in the salty, pulsing heat on his kryth. The way his muscles have grown tense, and his cock throbs against my thigh. It’s so big and thick, and I can feel its contours and want to look at it, but I can’t take my eyes away from his.
His lips move and he says something in his language. The growl of his voice vibrates under my tongue as I make my way along his patterned skin to his neck, along his jawline. I have never in my life felt the desire that I feel now, between my legs.
I reach his lips, and move my fingers to caress his kryth while we breathe, inches from each other’s mouth, staring into each other’s eyes.
For a moment he’s still, coiled and tense, only his kryth and his cock pulsing and twitching. When he seizes my hair and pushes my mouth toward his, it’s a break with his own control, and I feel it throughout his body. He kisses me violently, and the passion of his desire travels through me like a stiff drink, making me warm.
I don’t so much as surrender to him as I have no choice but to go with him when he pushes me onto the table and covers my body with his. He is heavy, solid, and warm. His tongue moves sensually inside of my mouth, and we establish a rhythm that seems orchestrated.
He draws back suddenly, standing at the foot of the table. “This is forbidden,” he growls.
I don’t care. I mean to say that, but no words leave my mouth. I push myself up, my eyes on his.
“I want you,” I tell him, and move my fingers over his kryth.
He shudders and snatches my wrist in a quick movement that I don’t see coming. His claws are extended and his appearance is becoming more feral with each passing second, the growl in his chest is more ferocious. I don’t feel fear, though. Just a desire to lure him in to me, to feel him inside of me.
“I will punish you,” he says, but the threat is empty, because he hasn’t even finished the sentence when he pushes me back and climbs on top of me. I have spread my legs for him, and my pussy is so wet that I can feel my juices sliding under my skin as he pushes me back on the table.
He meets my eyes for a moment, a single breath, a growl coming from deep inside of him—not loud, just vibrating deeply.
When his cock touches the entrance to my pussy, I feel its size, and my eyes go wide with fear that I have no intention of acting upon. I still want him, I have never wanted anything so much before in all my life—nothing like this, nothing so animal.
There is a sharp pain when he enters me; my opening stretches wide and for a moment it seems he will not fit, but with a gentle, steady thrust, he slides in. I gasp, and hear a whimper in my throat, but the pain travels through me, turns to water in my eyes, and spills over as a single tear. Then it’s gone.
He covers my mouth with his and his cock fills me, driving in deep, stretching me in every direction, leaving no emptiness inside. He rests on his forearms with my head in his hands, and moves inside of me slowly at first, fucking me almost tenderly, warming me up.
My orgasm is quick to ignite—after all, I have been craving this for weeks, and now I know this deep inside: I have wanted him all along, I have always wanted him, it feels as natural to have his cock inside of me and his weight on top of me as if I have known all my life that I would be with him.
I dig my fingers into his flesh, and I start to feel dizzy. Between my legs, the ache has blossomed and throbs almost painfully now; I’m so close to release, and he keeps moving, thrusting harder now, deeper, consuming me.
When I come it’s like an explosion; it spreads from the intense pleasure between my legs, out to my limbs, into my head, and I begin to see stars. The pleasure is unlike anything I have ever felt before, and my mouth falls open. He is above me, looking down at me, and my screams seem to make him swell inside of me.
I’m not conscious of what I’m doing when I wrap my legs around him, crossing, with some difficulty, my feet at the ankles so I can pull him toward me, trapping him inside of me. Waves of pleasure are still gripping me. It’s almost too pleasurable to stand. But I want him to fill me, I want to feel him come, I want the wet, hot liquid of his seed deep inside of me.
He is overtaken by a sudden flash of something—a last effort to stop what we have started. He puts a hand next to my head and tries to push away. I grip him fiercely with my legs, and roll my head slowly, telling him not to stop. Our eyes are locked when I feel him growl, feel his cock pulse violently, and then feel the hot liquid of his seed spilling inside of me as he makes a sound so feral it would ordinarily be terrifying.
His weight collapses onto me and he puts his arms around me, gripping me fiercely. I feel a sharp slash on my back—an errant claw, I will discover later, a tiny cut from his loss of control. His whole body is violently tense as he thrusts so deep inside of me I can feel his cock bumping against my cervix. Between my legs I feel the enormous amount of seed, hot and liquid, being pumped into me.
His orgasm lasts a long time, as mine ebbs away. At last, his body seems to be drained completely of its energy, and he’s heavy on top of me for a moment, making it hard to breathe.
He pushes up on his forearms and we look at each other. His kryth is now alive with wild colors, pulsing and glowing. We stare into each other’s eyes, exchanging something wordlessly, something we both know: we are made for each other.