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There was even a series of nerve strokes that would reduce female discomfort from the expansive stretch male fluids inevitably caused.
The inflexible human meat stick I had seen in the pornographic video would never be able to do any of this.
The hybrid male sex organ in these images was far more capable, much larger, and less threatening on the page than in real life.
Still, it made me nervous to look upon that snake-like appendage in the diagrams. Pointed tip, with a wider flange following—to anchor it within, should a man be able to coax it inside female, willing or not. A series of segments, accordion-like, could flex to thicken or stretch to invade, the sensation of the ridges against female muscles stimulating for both parties. A knot would grotesquely expand at the broader root of the organ once she signaled orgasm, to lock her pelvis to his. It was his duty to ensure she continued to reach completion until satiated and compliant to male authority.
His fluids were addictive, the ultimate balm to soothe a heat. Sexual ejaculation the ultimate cure, saliva enough to soften the fever, but not to end it.
One sexual encounter and no other man would ever be able to ease the female’s compulsory chemical dependence. Other hybrid males would no longer hear her song and would therefore have no interest in copulation.
Whoever knotted a desired mate first was the eternal winner. Courtship, getting to know your female, could be enjoyed following intercourse and compelled addiction.
The language the author had chosen to describe these actions was deeply unsettling. This was a manual on forcing a woman who maynot be willingbut needed to be madecompliant.
Compelled addiction.
After the agony of organs ripping apart and reforming, no female would want sex, and no male would be able to resist forcing a bond.
Cyderial had done this to me.
Unless some miracle came to save her, General Thayer would do this to Maeve.
Every girl I knew at the academy would suffer, only to be mounted moments later by a male who was most likely a stranger. What if the men had not read this manual? What if they didn’t know what to do to make the pain as minimal as possible?
The thought was horrific.
Why were we not taught this about our bodies?
Because there was no motivation for women to mate. We were not driven to insanity by the song. We did not have the sexual appetite boys had to struggle with growing up. If we did not want children, there was no reason to engage in something that would rip you in half and then bind you to a man who could make you fall asleep with little more than a sweet scent, a rhythmic melody, and some soft words.
If we knew, many of us would refuse men altogether.
We were born and confined until maturity so the stronger gender of our species could snatch us right off the list, our ignorant little heads filled with nonsense.
Or in my case, taken as punishment for wanting to be free.
Saddened, I set down the book, unable to read any further.
An entire society existed in support of this—humans who wanted more of us, hybrids who wanted to fuck us.
Enthusiasm for exploration dried up completely, the chair in his study as good as any place to sink into a depression.
I didn’t like that I had been left alone in the house. Accustomed to the bustle of many sisters and constant company, it was lonely there in the dark.
Lonely enough even the presence of a man I didn’t like would have been an improvement.
What did that say about me?
I hated the academy the majority of my life. Now, all I wanted was to either be back home… or be withhim.
Addicted indeed.
And getting hotter by the hour.
The hydraulic hiss of the front door unbolting announced my tormentor’s return. Down the hall, lights came on, drawing me from the dark study toward the opposite side of the dwelling.
A jumble of mixed feelings, most of them awful, shared space with an uninvited sense of relief.
