He felt like her dark eyes were gazing into his soul, making it yearn to be a part of her, connected to her forever. The need surged up in him. While his rational mind argued with him not to voice it, not to ruin this moment, his heart was fiercely sure it needed to happen. Right now. This was the time. The turning point.
Go with your gut.
"I've no doubt you're my Mistress." Reaching up, he stroked his knuckles along the line of her cheek, his thumb against the corner of her dark eye. He moved back to her ear, down to the side of her throat, following her windpipe, feeling her swallow. When he increased his grip, her eyes flickered to him. "I'm your servant, my lady. Please, let me serve you. Don't doubt me or yourself. I've proven my loyalty to you. My skill. Believe in me and give me my own choice."
Why do you force me to play games? All of you, even Thomas. Can't I have one person whom I don't have to force to do my bidding for their own good?
So she could communicate in this form. Hearing her voice in his head sounding as it usually did was startling with the contrast of this winged transformation, but he recovered quickly.
Perhaps you need to stop feeling you have to make those choices for us. Old you are, my lady, he teased her gently. But God you are not. Even God gave us free will.
He was an idiot that day. A weak moment that has caused more pain and aggravation in the world than can be measured.
Something shimmered in her expression, something that turned into a hard quiver running through her body. He was astonished to see moisture collect in the corner of one large dark eye, become a glittering tear. A moment later he knew what track a tear would take in this form. The diamond shape of it was split into three trails by the overlapping folds, dampening her face. Catching the moisture with his finger, he carefully wiped it away. "Don't cry. Please, my lady."
He began to rise, intending comfort. As unexpectedly as a lightning strike out of a clear sky, she seized his hand, pulled back on her haunches and twisted him so she rolled him over. Forced him to his stomach where he could not see her and his arm was pressed at an uncomfortable angle behind his back. With his cheek pressed into the dirt and grass of the forest floor, he could only see her in his peripheral vision. Just brief impressions, shadows, though she was very solidly real, the way she anchored herself on his body. She stood on his thighs how in her birdlike crouch so that her sharp toenails pressed into his muscles. Using her other hand, she pushed away his torn T-shirt, baring the strip of skin just above the waistband of his jeans. He turned his pinned wrist to twine his fingers with the claws holding his arm to his back. While she accepted the contact, it did not ease the strength of her grip. When she bent to him, the tip of her tongue touched him, a tongue that felt forked and a bit longer than it had been. He felt the scrape of a fang.
Use your free hand and reach under yourself. Unzip your jeans.
It took a bit of effort. This form was not much heavier, but with her weight on his upper thighs and pressed on his lower back, she didn't give him much maneuvering room. He sensed her pleasure in the necessary flexing of his muscles and buttocks to rise up the amount needed to do her bidding. Since she was completely naked, it stood to reason she would desire him in the same state, though lying prone on a bare erection was not the most comfortable position in the world. The unbidden image of her impaling herself on him as he lay on his back, his arms drawn to straining over his head by vines dangling from the trees above, tortured him further.
Hold on a second. He wouldn't envision himself bound. But the next image was the sultry glide of her slick cunt down his length… one inch… two inches… She was offering him her fantasies, goading him with her own desires. It was like the intense eroticism of watching a woman masturbate, only he was getting to see it from inside of her head, the visions she conjured to stimulate herself.
He managed to complete the task and struggled to get his shoes off in the same fashion, inspiring her to run her hand over his buttocks as they shifted to accomplish the task. Once the shoes were gone, she pulled the jeans off him in a quick move that took his lower body off the ground, dragging him a couple feet. He gripped at the earth, seeking balance, but before he could find it she was back on top of him again. She guided his arms back so the elbows were bent at right angles, his hands gripping his forearms to form a square on his lower back. Then she manacled his overlapping wrists with one long-fingered hand, the talons snicking together like the sound of a lock, scraping against his skin.
Why are you afraid to let me be free, my lady?
Why are you afraid of surrendering, Jacob?
With her free hand, she flicked a claw across the top of his thigh, raking him, taking flesh, drawing blood.
It stung like nettles, the fire racing over the back of his leg, telling him she carried some type of venom in those razor tips, hopefully just a temporary measure to distract prey. But Jesus, it burned. He couldn't help his spasmodic twitching. But she showed mercy, leaning down and blowing on the area, bringing the feel of a cool mist across desert sands, easing the feeling. So flooded with relief, he wasn't prepared at all when she eased two fingers deep into his backside. He jerked immediately after though, struggling against her. He clenched around her invasion, creating a different burning sensation, almost as uncomfortable.
Easy, Jacob. Breathe deeply and relax. She held him down effortlessly. It made him fight even harder, his mind overcome by panic at the physical and emotional reactions that surged through him at the uninvited penetration. There were no inanimate manacles he could slip. She moved effortlessly with him as he thrashed, and the predatory pleasure he sensed from her at his struggle only made his reaction harder to control.
A virgin in this area entirely, aren't you? Never even allowed a woman to tease your rim, though you go for mine often enough. I know you've enjoyed the pleasure of a woman's tight hole.
While he was sure his rectum was going to simply erupt into flames, he was cognizant that before she'd invaded she'd transformed her fingers back to human form, for there was no feeling of cutting sharpness, just a woman's fingers, lubricated with that oil he'd felt on her skin. Maybe also from oils lower down. Perhaps she had actually touched herself when he'd envisioned her masturbating.
Easy, Sir Vagabond. Be my slave. Submit to my pleasure. Leaning over him now, she pressed her thighs against the outside of his, her mons brushing the base of his ass just below where her fingers were penetrating. Though I admit I love to watch you fight me, your muscles rippling along your back and shoulders, that delectably tight ass. I love your power, Jacob, knowing you're a strong man who will resist even when you know you're irrevocably caught. But as much as that arouses me, I love when you give me all that power as a gift.
You also like taking it, my lady.
He felt her dangerous amusement. Yes, I do. Did you know, from the first time I saw you at the Eldar, to every second you've been in my house, there hasn't been a single moment I haven't wanted to taste you, smell you, fuck you? Eat you alive. You're a hunger I seem unable to appease.
She was doing it again, putting images in his brain that were making his cock into a painful iron bar against the ground. She worked her fingers inside of him in a way that had him pushing himself mindlessly against the earth as if it were her pussy he was plunging into. He was working a furrow into the forest floor that was getting warmer from the heat of his body, making the dirt and packed leaves moist from the arousal leaking from him.
You're trying to change the subject, my lady. Turn us away from the course you know is inevitable. It won't work.
Shut up, slave.
She leaned farther forward, putting more straining pressure on his arms. She'd turned completely back to human form except that one hand holding him, for he felt the difference in her weight distribution. Her hair fell against his shoulder blades. The skin of her thighs had become silky smooth and soft like her breasts as they pressed against the top of his folded arms. Putting her teeth to the juncture of shoulder and neck, she bit deep, her nose and cheek along his jawline.
She drank with her body on top of his, her fingers far too cleverly pumping in his ass. As she drew sustenance from him, using him completely for her pleasure and nourishment but offering him nothing beyond that, it shattered him into pieces. His mind simply stopped functioning. She tightened her thighs on him rhythmically, matching her cadence with her drinking. As she rocked, she pressed her pubic bone against the loose curl of her hand in a way that bumped her fingers more deeply into his ass, as if she had a cock and her curled knuckles were the scrotal sac slapping against him. He thought there might be four fingers in him now, stretching him past bearing with the physical pleasure and emotional turmoil.
He didn't have any interest in being fucked by a man, never had, but this image, of his delicate, sexy Mistress using the illusion of a cock to force him to climax, overwhelmed him in a way he didn't expect. Hadn't Thomas told him she would force him to explore places in himself he'd never even thought to look?
His cock was pulsing hard. "My lady… Mistress…"
"You'll come for me, now. Now," she repeated it sharply, and he groaned, a sound that wrenched from him as a snarling growl, evolving into a roar as his insides drew taut and he spurted like a hot geyser. He slammed his hips into the ground, the earth nowhere close to the slickness of her cunt, but it didn't matter to his frenetically humping cock. He could imagine it, for she was filling his head with it. She was remembering their first night, when he had the taste of her in his mouth, her grinding against his face, her thighs gripping his skull.