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It doesn't come in time.
Valdred asks me if I want to go to the rut, and it’s a struggle not to grimace. I don't know where the rut is, but the word itself says a lot, and I certainly know the tone of his whisper. It’s the fairy equivalent of "Do you want to get out of here?"
And my stomach hollows out, because I don't. I don't want to get out of here with the handsome stranger and his deep, sensual voice. I want to be at home, in my bed, and wake up from this nightmare where I'm imprisoned by my own flesh. My heart's thundering, my hands trembling, but I smile pleasantly. I can't help it. I'mhis perfect toy, as instructed.
I follow him impotently, incapable of muttering a single word against his desires. A slave in all but name.
* * *
The rut, as I guessed in one go, is a place where fairies go to fuck.
Not that it stops some from doing it right in the open at the party.
This one is set up in a clearing, at the edge of thenearby forest.
The creatures writhing, bouncing, pounding under the sky aren't making love, they aren't making out—they screw each other like animals in front of everyone, on the floor, on low pillows, blankets and seats arranged on the wet moss, screaming and panting. It's like the art hanging in Junis castle's, only in the flesh; a veritable wild orgy.
I couldn’t hear or see anything before we reached it, but inside the border marked by the surrounding trees, the stench of sex, the sound of skin slapping against skin, and the sight of people in various stages of undress, crawling as far as they can under each other’s skin, is overwhelming.
Valdred cups my cheek and smiles at me as he bends to kiss me, almost folding in two, given his height.
How I wish his kiss would sweep me off my feet, make me forget everything else, the reason I'm here, what I have to do. But it doesn't. My body responds in kind because I have to, and that's the only reason. I've felt more when kissing Rain on a dare, for Christ's sake.
He doesn't know me well enough to notice any sign of reluctance. Or maybe he just doesn't care.
I'm being unfair. The man is honestly gorgeous, and nicer than most. He's unlikely to be so hard-pressed for company that he'd have to resort to forcing slaves. But I don't happen to care how he might feel. I hate this. I hate not having a choice, or at least, a way to fight this.I preferred being forced by Junis, because I could scream, I could punch and try to run.
Oblivious, Valdred keeps kissing his way from my mouth to my breasts, hand sliding along my skin, until he finds my exposed inner thighs; given what I'm wearing, it'sno hardship to get to my folds.
He's good with his fingers, and I hate him for that, too. Shame and rage set my blood on fire when I feel heat coat his hand, my thighs. The only worse thing than being forced to endure someone's touch without any free will is to be made to enjoy it.
I'm almost relieved when he grows impatient and guides me to my knees, opening his brown leather pants.
Shit.
His cock is so large I don’t think I can fit it in my mouth without choking, its curved tip pointing right at my lips.
Breathe, Rina. Breathe, while you still can.
I inch forward, ready to please, please, please, as Junis bid me, and Valdred slides two fingers past my lips. I lick them, staring straight into his amber eyes. From up close, they almost seem like liquid gold.
It’s not so bad at all. I’m sure he’ll make the entire ordeal…bearable. He's good with his fingers, at least. Something tells me he knows what to do with the overlarge member in his pants as well. In a decade, after I’ve returned to the sea of average cocks on the perfectly boring mortal men I’m used to, I’ll likely look back to this moment and think that it was a good fuck.
Well, as long as I’m alive in a decade, and out of this wretched world by then.
No, I'm being dramatic. My deal with Junis—if I can call it that. A deal suggests two sides shaking hands on an agreement—is only for a year though. Even if I can't run, I will survive him. I refuse to let him break me.
The point is, I’m making this more complicated than it needs to be. Objectively, I know that if Valdred and I met at Night Hall, I would likely have ended up right where I am: on my knees, opening my mouth wide to take his cock, my pussy wet and waiting for him.
I’m not a prude. Just last weekend, I was imagining some hot strangers fucking in an ally, and if it had been an option, I would have been more than happy to join them. Plus, my lady bits have been woefully neglected of late.
It’s not that bad. I can even try to convince myself it's good. Right? He's pretty.
As much as I try, lying to myself doesn’t work. I am being forced to do this. I did not choose this. I did not choose him. I want out. I needan out.
Panic, fear, and disgust rising in my chest, I wish I could scream and thrash, but I just stay there and take it as yet another man enters my mouth without my say so—for the second time in as many days. Valdred’s finger traces my lip and he smirks down at me and for an awful moment, I think he knows I’m suffering. He knows I’m afraid, desperate to flee, but locked in right here. He must have deduced as much from our conversation about Junis. He saw my master take me aside, giving me instruction.
And he likes it. He's a monster too, just one wearing a pretty face, and saying sweet nothings.
