“Kildar,” Gretchen said, swallowing. “I… Kildar, the Cardane is a Rite. It is… It is a Rite of our religion. It is part of our Mysteries.”
“Of the Father of All,” Mike said, puzzled.
“No,” Gretchen said. “Kildar, I’m afraid if I say more it will be worse than if I you reject me. Please, Kildar, you must not speak of this, must not ever give any idea that I spoke of it to you. Not even this much.”
“Not of the Father of All,” Mike said, musingly. “I’d bet not of Fir, Lord of War, either. Nor of… No, I’d bet Balor falls in there, somewhere… It’s a woman’s Rite.”
“Kildar,” Gretchen said then sighed. “Your damned books. Others have read them at this point so we realize that our mysteries are not so mysterious.”
“It is always the Kildar,” Mike said, wonderingly. “And the Kildar is always a foreigner; that’s part of the definition. A foreign warrior. Probably a good one. A woman’s mystery. Heh. I bet any ‘Kildars’ that didn’t measure up didn’t last long, yes?”
“Please,” Gretchen said, frowning.
“God damn,” Mike said, grinning. “That prize bull that Father Makanee asked me to import. Out of stock from America. It was expensive as hell but Genadi agreed that it was important. The local stock was too inbred.”
Gretchen was now looking at the floor, her hands clenched in front of her.
“I’d wondered how come the first three girls I lay with all came up pregnant, apparently by me,” Mike said, wonderingly. “It’s because they were ‘put to stud’ when they were at the most likely point to catch. I’m the Keldara’s damned prize bull, aren’t I? And all the Kildars before me. Age upon age, century upon century, the best soldiers of each generation, adding to the pool… You people have been breeding yourselves as warriors for centuries!”
“And they have to be good looking,” Gretchen said, sighing. “Pure of form and… unill. That is, they cannot be of bad blood. What is now called genetic illnesses. If they are, the Keldara avoid breeding with them or if they cannot the women kill them, usually with poison, or the children are aborted. The Mothers know of ways to do both. I only found out when I was presented with the Rite.”
“Son of a bitch,” Mike said, shaking his head. “I just don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing,” Gretchen said, looking up pleadingly. “Please. You will say nothing. If the Mothers find out that I said as much as I have… ”
“Oh, your mysteries are safe with me,” Mike said, grinning. “But if I’m to be the local stud stallion, will you squeal like a mare being bred for me?”
“Oh, Kildar,” Gretchen said, laughing in relief. She slid over into his arms and tucked her face into his neck. “I will do that if you wish. But what I’d really like… I have been a very bad girl. Could you spank me? But not more, please?”
“Oh, I think that can be arranged,” Mike said, burying his face in her hair. She’d clearly been stressed, he could smell it on her. But she also had put on a perfume, something like apples. It was just begging for a bite. “But now I wonder if my pattern for this thing is a good idea… ”
“You mean this?” Gretchen said, sliding off the couch and getting on her knees. She ran her hand across the g-string and started to undo it. “So far, so good. Let’s not break tradition.”
His member was fully engorged when she pulled the g-string down. Between the anticipation, the frustration and, hell, the tits, he was about as ready to burst as he’d been in years.
Anastasia gave good classes but he wondered where Gretchen had been practicing. She ran her tongue down his dick just once then slid her mouth over it and began to fellate him. And, damn, she was good.
The girl had to have been practicing. You didn’t get suction like that naturally; the jaw and mouth muscles weren’t normally exercised that way. But she had purely unreal suction and immediately fell into a slow rhythm of up and down stroking, thumb and finger laced around his dick just right, no teeth, just lips, going in time with the mouth, slowly speeding up…
Mike normally had pretty good control but this time he couldn’t help it; he came in her mouth so hard some of the cum must have squirted all the way down her throat.
Gretchen choked, slightly, but kept sucking, getting every drop. Then she pulled back, swallowed and ran her hand, lightly, down under his balls.
“Is that what you were worried about, Kildar?” she asked, smiling. “Did that take the edge off?”
“What were we fighting about?” Mike asked. “That was… exquisite. You are exquisite.”
Gretchen had brought a refilled glass of champagne over and she took a sip, swished it around her mouth, swallowed and repeated. Then she slid up next to him, still fingering his dick and tucked back into his shoulder.
“Tell me the truth,” she whispered. “Do you really like me that much?”
“Ask yourself this question,” Mike said. “I know the girls talk. Did any of them get me off that fast?”
“No,” Gretchen admitted in practically a purr. “Can we see if I can get you off as fast other ways?”
“What about you?” Mike asked, sliding his hand up under the dress and tickling at her nipples.
“You always worry about us,” Gretchen whispered, breathing in his ear, lightly. “Now you know. We are here for us. For ourselves. I need you, now. I need you inside of me. I need you to be in me, filling me and coming in me. I want it inside of me and on me. I want to be fucked, fucked hard. I want to you fuck me and fill me and come on my beautiful breasts. Will you do that for me, Kildar?”
Mike was usually pretty good about recharge time. But that had been some sort of a record. He was stiff as a board.
Normally this was the point where he got really graceful and controlled, making sure that the girl with him either came before he did or, better, at the same time. But he was beyond thought at this point.
He reached up and tore, rather than unbuttoned, the single button that held the dress up and ripped it down, burying his face in those lovely breasts. He dragged the girl off the couch and onto the floor, pushed up the silk skirt, ripped off the lace panties and took her, hard.
And she was ready, not just moist but actively wet, and tight. God she was tight and hot. And they were perfectly sized. “Bigger is better” only goes so far. Mike wasn’t Long Dong Silver but he was “upper average.” Some of the Keldara girls had, Lord bless them, been a bit too small for him. Not Gretchen. As the fairytale went: Just right. Just tight enough that he knew he was filling her, fully.
The hymen ripped without notice by either of them and as he filled her she screamed, not squealing like a mare being covered but shrieked in pleasure and agony and fulfillment. Screamed like a tiger princess being taken by her striped mate.
Those beautiful long legs came up and wrapped him in yards of silk and flesh as her fingers dug into his buttocks and she pumped against him, rocking with every thrust and shrieking in joy.
Mike realized, immediately, that she wasn’t just having fun, she was coming for all she was worth, one continuous orgasm that had started as soon as he filled her. Making a women really feel was his greatest desire, whether pleasure or pain. And Gretchen was unquestionably feeling, wrapped in an ecstacy of Biblical proportions. He turned his brain off, gloriously, for once in sex, just turned it off and pounded as hard as he could. No coy games, no positions or different strokes, no who pleases who, just lost himself in glorious skin and hair and smell and that exalted rapture of every sense filled to overflowing…