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“Fuck yes, it is painful!” I curse and I reach back, trying to rub away infernal sting, but that is a bad idea because the next stroke is already arcing through the air. I hear the swish just before the crack and only barely manage to move my fingers away before a line of pure fire is laid across my hide.
“FUCK!”
I scream out, glad that the tribe are now making more than enough noise with their singing and dancing and drinking to cover my relatively thin cries lost to the winds of the wild.
“I know you,” Sithren says, drawing the lash back again. “I know you can be patient. Your work as a spy proved that many times over. And yet here you are impetuous and high tempered, two things you could never have been before.”
“It’s different when you know there’s an end to a mission.”
“This time you want something you think you cannot have,” he says, bringing the lash down in a swift and painful arc once more, speaking through my yowl of pain. “You are living as naturally as it is possible to live. No distractions. No missions. Just you, and your family and the land.”
He lashes me again, and this time it crosses the path of a previous lash and makes for an infernal crescendo of hot pain that turns my yowl into a true wail, followed by a sob.
“God fucking dammit,” I curse, using words I never thought I’d use. He’s breaking me down because I am weak. I am outcast. I am human, and on this planet that means nothing at all.
“I know you want a baby,” he says.
Those words are usually sweet and perhaps herald lovemaking. A hard lash follows these ones instead. Hot, shameful pain rushes to every part of my body.
“When you have one, I know you will settle. There will be no time for this silliness and arrogance once you need to attend to the relentless demands of an infant. Until then, I will be here to give you what I need.”
Again the lash lands. I got the point the first time, but Sithren never does anything by halves. He thrashes me out in the moonlit darkness to the point of tears and beyond. At some indeterminate point he drops the lash and continues with his hand, rough alien skin further igniting the welts and hot spots of my poor swollen cheeks.
When he decides I have had enough, he lays me down in the grasses, covering my sobbing body with his own and pressing rough kisses to my neck, breasts, inner thighs, every bit of my body that is not currently aching and throbbing against the savannah.
“Spread your legs,” he orders. “Let me give you what you need.”
I do as I am told, tears still tracing down my cheeks as Sithren thrusts inside me with one dominant thrust, going all the way he can. He fucks me in the grass with a fast, rough pace that gives me no time to recover from the thrashing. He wants them to blend together, these two rough and intense treatments. He wants me to come and cry at the same time. I can feel his insistence as his powerful body rises and falls over mine, the moonlight catching his scales as he undulates in a rough mating dance.
In the distance, the tribe has begun to drum. The sound echoes across the plains, a heady thrum that seems to keep beat with Sithren’s rough and dominant thrusts. My head falls back as I surrender to him, and to this world, and to everything that has happened to me, and everything that will ever happen to me. I lose myself in the veil between pleasure and pain, between love and longing, and loneliness and belonging. I curl up my toes and my thighs tremble and my inner walls grip his cock and I take him. Every bit of him. His dominance, his order, his law, his cock, and finally, his seed. He roars in orgasm and I cry through mine, gripping him and desperately drawing his essence in with the hope something lasting will spark, a new life perhaps.
After orgasm, there is calm. Tears dry on my cheeks and semen dries on my inner thighs. I am lying in Sithren’s arms in the darkness, and though he has not said it, I know that I am loved.
He slides his hand over my belly. “You will have a baby,” he assures me. I take reassurance from that, though I don’t see how he can possibly know. Nobody knows.
“These things take time. You should enjoy this time before they come.”
“They?”
“You think we are going to stop at one?”
“I…”
“I am going to fill your belly again and again,” he informs me. “You will have many more than one. You will have so many you will forever change the genetic imprint of the wilds.”
