Page 25 of Feast

Gunnar shook his head. “No.”

He penetrated that warm hole again, this time with his longer middle finger. The creature jumped, rattling the cage, but Gunnar pressed on, wriggling his finger into the hole until he was knuckle deep inside that wet warmth.

“What’s it like in there?” Muk asked excitedly.

“Warm,” Gunnar said. “Warm and wet.”

“Like a mouth?”

“Yeah, rather like a mouth,” Gunnar mused.

Gunnar explored that cavity thoroughly. When he grazed his finger along the front wall, the creature shook, and the wet channel fluttered and squeezed around him.

“Interesting…”

Gunnar stroked that spot again, and the creature bucked wildly, banging against the side of the cage.

“Whatever you’re doing in there, it doesn’t seem to like it,” Thusar observed.

But Gunnar wasn’t so sure about that.

He continued rubbing that tender spot, and the soft inner walls engorged and swelled in response, tightening around his finger. Fluid welled and dripped from the penetrated opening like a salivating mouth.

“Something’s happening,” Muk said.

Something was indeed happening, though Gunnar was not sure what. But it was clear that the response to his touch had expanded from that hole to overtake the creature’s entire body. Its little muscles were tensing up in anticipation.

But anticipation of what?

Gunnar had to find out. He would not stop until this process had run its course.

With a great effort, he forced a second finger into ever-tightening hole. He stroked his fingertips against that special, sensitive place until those inner membranes were so engorged and snug that he could hardly curl his fingers. When that happened, he resorted to pumping his fingers in and out. Wet, squelching sounds filled the stone chamber. Fluid ran in great quantities.

“Careful,” Thusar warned. “Careful…”

But Gunnar wasn’t listening anymore. He was like an ukkur possessed. His mind had been captivated by the raw, living scents filling his nostrils. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t stop the rough, steady pumping of his fingers in and out of that hole.

Suddenly, the creature bucked hard.

Convulsions wracked the smooth, naked body. The cage rattled violently, and a muffled cry escaped from beneath the mask, like the sound of someone screaming under water.

And strangest of all, a different kind of fluid squirted from the hole, staining Gunnar’s knuckles and forearm with its sweet fragrance.

He jerked back, withdrawing his fingers amid drooping threads of slippery secretions.

“Gods,” he grunted. “What was that?“

CHAPTER 10

If her mouth had not been covered by that gods-rotted mask, Ika would have been gasping loudly. She was still tingling and shuddering with the aftershocks of her intense climax. Her fingers and toes were numb, but not from the cold. Between the fire and the ukkur’s invasive explorations, she felt nearly overheated.

What had he just done to her?

Part of her wanted to cry. She felt so violated, so physically insulted. The ukkur had forced his fingers inside of her shameful place, and Ika, bound and caged and naked as she was, had been utterly helpless to resist.

But gods, it had felt so good. All that stroking, that tickling, that rough digging of fingers against her sensitive interior. The feelings had reached a point of no return, and when Ika had finally surrendered, the pleasure that had swept through her being had been intense beyond belief.

It had crashed through her like a storm. Like a violent wind. The kind that breaks trees and leaves a path of destruction in its wake.