No Demons But Us Page 3
“A little young. Not too young.”
I left before they could call me over and ask whose Daughter I was.
Consort’s lineage, huh?
Not as far as I knew, and my stomach roiled at the thought. Jilrina and Kaltra were both Consort-sired; they made certain I understood. Our Mother had been dubiously Blessed by a Grandson of Braqth during two Worship Balls. She hadn’t claimed a third Consort to conceive me; some young pole at House Bovritz had conducted that trade. The Matron of the Eleventh House was one of our occasional visitors when she deemed Thalluen, of the less-populated Twelfth House, was worthy of her time or the time of one of her many family members. The Davrin who had sired me was one of her cousins, I thought, though I couldn’t even remember what the record had said was his name.
How often had my two sisters described to me their sires? Perfect skin, dark as shadow with flowing hair stark white at both top and bottom. Beautiful, exotic, talented in bed. Bred and trained by the Priestesses to please any female. Each had been kept at the manor for only a few short turns while our Matron entertained herself with him, many decades before I was born. Mother would never own a Consort permanently; all of them belonged to the Priestesses and the Valsharess, as the highest studs a Noble could claim. He would always return to the Sanctuary for the next Worship Ball, then he would be given to another Noble who had done enough favors for the right slits in high places.
Unless my sisters had taken after Mother in ways I could not see, I thought the choice of sires was to blame. The first Consort to visit our home must have thought so highly of himself that he could not couple without a mirror in one hand. The second Consort must have been so dumb as to run face-first into things in the dark, and he only found Mother’s breeding hole with his prick by accident.
It was only a matter of time before someone here recognized Matron Thalluen in my face. Of her three Daughters, I was the one who looked the most like her once one saw past the odd blue color. Yet my eyes alone seemed to provide me that real distraction, a level of camouflage while there was no family standing by my side.
That weird anonymity would only last so long, I knew. Still, I avoided spats and petty squabbles for the first twelve spans—a full quarter of a turn, which I thought was impressive. To be not worth anybody’s time yet still be able to watch their eyes and hands, the tilts of the heads at formal meals, in the gardens, the halls, and the bathing rooms? Beneath the actors’ notices, I started to feel safer, more confident. Bold and…curious.
I began to meet the eyes of more young, male Nobles. I would catch a drifting gaze, one bored or embarrassed by a public display, and I would hold his eyes for a few moments and share some unspoken, snide comment about our so-called “betters.” As long as the politicking females weren’t hurling toward a known crime or physical conflict with the bua in the middle, he and I could snicker oh-so-subtle behind their backs from the fringe.
More of these Sons smiled when they saw me enter a room, yet they didn’t stumble forward to gain my attention and pull the judging glare of their chaperone. I would prowl behind a few proven able to control himself and do it slowly—usually at a dinner party or in the web gardens—letting him lead the chase no one could see, and the secret game seemed to delight more than one of them.
I was delighted myself, especially when one wiggled his backside suggestively for me, or another adjusted his robe just so, allowing me to see a glimpse of the turgid outline of his staff. The game offered a far better buzz than the wine at dinner, and alone in my too-large quarters, I kept dreaming about what I would do with one of these Noble buas when I finally caught him.
Then one eve, the drink at dinner proved far stronger than the high of my personal game, and many Davrin returned to their rooms early or would be found dozing openly in unsecured places. There would be many and varied accusations awaiting the Court upon sobering up. I had managed to stop before I got halfway through my first glass, and I still felt the dulling of all my senses. I didn’t like it one bit.
In no shape to play the floor now. Return to my rooms. Get safe.
Yet on my way back, I found one of the young, Noble Sons for whom I’d prowled before. He was alone, unprotected, and passed out beneath a tapestry of our Valsharess facing off with some giant, black snake of the Deepearth. I crouched and shook his shoulder, sluggishly trying to think of his name.
“Micraen,” I mumbled.
My head pounded and swirled a moment, and I stopped shaking him, resting my face in one hand, breathing deep. I think someone tampered with the whole cask at this dinner. Who was it? The Priestesses? The Red Sisters? The First House? Bah.
I tried again. “Micraen, wake up.”
The most I got out of him was a groan. The sound was unfamiliar because it was unguarded; I was a little surprised how my heart sped up, a rush of heat passing through my body. I leaned closer, shook him again, and he made that noise again. Annoyed. Confused. Harmless. I could smell his scent, too; the natural one rising from his chest, not the fragrance he wore just behind his ear. It made my mouth water. I’d never been this close to any of the buas with whom I’d been sharing smiles and jests these many spans.
“Micraen.” Another shake.
No response now, not even a grunt.
Well, I could leave him here for his chaperone to find him—she should be looking for him this very moment if she were to do her job—or I could watch over him myself. A few moments’ worth of thought, where I imagined leaving him and waking later after an eve’s Reverie, only to hear some drunken group of caits had gotten hold of him and violated him while he was unconscious. I didn’t like it.
Fucking slits would do it, too. My room it is.
Part of me was surprised no one stopped me, or that a servant didn’t report seeing me. It had taken some work, but once I had the young Noble flung over one shoulder, I was stumbling alone toward a quieter side of the Palace. Everyone must have been feeling like dung heaps to ignore this, not just me.
I forgot about that curious thing as soon as I released the Ward and lurched into my own chambers, shouldering the door closed again to reset the Ward with a swipe of my hand. I had so many rooms to choose from, sometimes I rotated between them just to change my routine. I didn’t consciously decide this time; I made my way to the nearest one with a bed, which also happened to be the smallest.
Fully clothed and my head swimming, I dumped Micraen onto the well-padded mattress and followed right behind him, shoving the warm body almost against the wall to make room for me.
My head touched down; I closed my eyes and slipped away.
Waking up in bed next to another Davrin had always been harrowing for me. It almost always meant I was naked, sore, and suffering aftereffects of whatever “ritual tonic” Jilrina had given me. From what I’d seen and heard so far at Court, I wasn’t alone in this desire to wake up alone. Perhaps waking from Reverie in twos and threes on a regular basis was done among the fighters and the servants who had no status to lose or assassination to fear, but the Nobles at Court avoided falling asleep together mainly for those same reasons.
When I opened my eyes in the pitch black, I saw a body so close I couldn’t help but recognize it. Micraen was already awake and staring at me, lying on his side. I sensed the heat of his skin immediately, smelled both him and the rumpled clothing he’d worn to dinner. I read confusion and wariness in him, even as I saw him mostly as an Elvish shape without color.
I bolted upright, identified the room as mine, saw I was still dressed and covered down to my formal slippers. I could breathe. Then I noted sandals on his feet, tiny beads, and decorations tied around attractive ankles. I shook my head, trying to clear it.
“What the fuck?” I said.
“What I was going to say,” the bua murmured ruefully. “And, where am I?”
“Thalluen quarters,” I grumbled, rubbing my face and the grit from my eyes.
“I see. How did I get here?”
He swallowed subtly. “Do you know what mark of the cycle it is?”
I exhaled. The room was dark without candles, smokeless or otherwise. It was barely prepared as a living space because I hadn’t used this one much. I didn’t keep a timepiece in here.
“Nope,” I said, fumbling in a side drawer to light one of those candles so I could begin keeping time at some point. I waited for him to spring up and straighten his clothing in vain, to explain that he needed to rush to find his chaperone or his governess, his sister or cousin. I waited for him to say he needed to leave my rooms.
He didn’t. Micraen just looked at me like he expected something.
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Aren’t you going to be punished?”
“Probably,” he agreed.
I watched him shift on my bed as if he was comfortable yet intended to relax further; he tugged up his shirt to show me his taut belly and sickle-shaped navel. Resting his head on one arm and turned so that he was in a suggestive pose, the cup of his crotch hanging heavy. He drew in a breath through his nose and watched me hopefully with wide, pretty eyes.
I huffed a laugh even as my eyes trailed with appreciation over his form in full color. I twisted a handful of my dinner gown in one hand, wiping the sudden sweat off my palm, but then made myself stop.
“You’re offering,” I checked.
“I’m here,” he replied. “You finally caught me, even if I can’t remember how.”
He was hard, too. He wanted it.
Sitting there, I felt like the rat hunter that had stalked and toyed with its prey for far too long. Now I had it under my paw, the rat had gone still and wasn’t trying to get away, and I didn’t know what to do next.
“You’ve been fucked before,” I guessed. “This isn’t your first.”
Micraen was coy and shifted sensually, now pushing down the fine fabric covering one hip. I could see not only more smooth, dark skin but also the contrasting white fur crowning his cock, as well as the base of it. Clearly ready to ride.
Teasing slut.
I shivered involuntarily, and my dark nipples stood up through my pale dress. It had sunk in. The bua was here in my bed, and I had decided.
I was about to lay the first male of my life!
Let’s aim not to let him guess that.
We stripped down and slipped under the covers, and I dove right onto him, wanting to explore all of him with more than just my hands. Goddess, but I did enjoy using my lips and tongue; his skin tasted good! So good, in so many different ways. Every place was new to me, and I loved that he didn’t smell female at all, didn’t taste or sound like one. I loved the way his phallus fit in my mouth, how I could suck to make him shudder. I enjoyed listening to his whispered submission to me. He didn’t once try to climb on top of me.
“Please take me,” Micraen said, eager and willing by the time I finally got to my knees and straddled him. “Oh, yes. Sirana.”
He was good at making sexy, encouraging faces. Pretty masks, practiced for the female’s pleasure and ego, of course.
Oh well. Give me that bua-pole.
I was a little too quick and eager myself; my impatience got the better of me as I found myself moist but not as slick as I could get just dreaming about buas. Either my nerves or the drink last night—or both—made me a little dry despite the foreplay. I got the head in but really should have given myself more time to work us both, or just give up and use some spit.
I did neither; I took him most of the way in on the first lunge down, and the searing fire that scalded the entrance of my sex shocked me. I sucked in a breath and emitted what sounded like a roar to my ears; my body clamped down on his, and my torso fell forward into his arms as I bit the pillow, willing the pain to pass.
“A-Are you well?” Micraen asked, sounding afraid. “Mistress?”
The first time he’d called me that since we woke up. Now I knew he was scared; he thought I was about to get violent. Meanwhile, my needy, fresh-speared slit burned, throbbing a little around the stiff rod I’d jammed into it.
Stupid, stupid…
I hadn’t put anything in there since Jilrina had nearly killed me on her homemade altar a decade ago. So glad she’s fucking dead. I hope Braqth ties her up in her metal web for playing a fake Priestess.
Sweat dotting my forehead, I lifted my head from the pillow and tasted Micraen’s skin again with my lips, trying to calm myself. I explored his throat and shoulders and collarbone. His tense muscles relaxed a little, my sex seemed to loosen its death grip on him; we made eye contact. He stroked my thighs and, trembling, I nodded, tentatively rocking on him. There seemed more wetness to spread along his length, which had gone slightly soft.
Finally, I nodded again.
“I’m well,” I said. “Whew.”
“Y-You’ve never—?” he began.
My face flushed. “It’s not my first time, alright? I know what I’m doing. Just wasn’t wet enough.”
Micraen exhaled and accepted without question. He looked down to admire my breasts, touching them, stroking one hand along my flank and over my hip to really reach and squeeze one buttock. I felt him regain what rigidity he’d lost in his fright, and he even thrust his hips up, moving with me as I sorted out my rhythm. I managed to fuck him properly, working out something familiar in theory but not in practice, using an orifice that I both loathed for it costing me my inheritance and still wanted to reclaim for myself.
If I didn’t, the first century at the Palace would feel even longer than it was shaping up to be.
“Mmm, yes, Sirana, like that,” he whispered, caressing my thighs as I pushed myself up again to regain leverage.
I went faster on him. I listened to the smacking and slapping of my flesh on his; I squeezed his pole tight with my muscles as I got wetter, as the burning eased, but the soreness remained.
Braqth’s Tits. This feels alright but… strange.
A small, childish part of me suggested that now I’d tried it, it was kind of disappointing, and I didn’t know what anyone saw in lodging blunt, unwieldy, uncomfortable things up inside like this. Tongues and fingers had more fine control.
You sound like Jilrina.
I growled. If I stopped riding my first cock now and ended on a note of disgust, the cunt’s memory would win. I wouldn’t let her. I wouldn’t give up. I kept going.
I hadn’t figured out how to climax before I was out of time. The candle told me I risked someone knocking on the door searching for their missing Noble Son, and simultaneously the same, slutty Davrin in my bed was now to the point that he might choke if I didn’t let him—
“G-Goddess, please, Sirana!” he wailed.
“Do it!” I commanded, my palms planted on his shoulders to hold him down as I sped up. “Let it loose! Now!”
His naked body was anything but passive beneath me then. I watched his face as he pitched himself over the proverbial cliff. I felt him writhe, and his cock twitched and pulsed deep inside, seeding my sex for the first time. I listened to those genuinely uncontrolled noises through gritted teeth, and I stared at him wide-eyed, my fingers gripping him, my mouth gaping. I may not have climaxed myself, but…
Wow. That was a very close second.
His member softened, and I lifted my soggy sex off him, landed beside him with my crotch buzzing. He had sweated enough as to smell delicious, and I gathered him closer while the bua caught his breath. I meant to rub that scent all over my chest where I could enjoy it after he left. He nuzzled my tits with his face, and I chuckled, touching his back and soft hair while he fell into a light doze. He was so pretty when he relaxed.
I knew it now; there were qualities in males I sought and enjoyed, despite my never having the chance to explore it until now. I’d always known it. I’m not like my sister. I’m not like either of the
m.
I could peak taking a bua this way; I had only to practice. Tracking and catching these eager members on which to practice would be my new task. Tittering with the children behind older female backs was a youth’s game. Now I was ready to play the bigger one.
When I returned Micraen to his female guardians in House Kelnic suites, I realized I had “jumped up” a few levels in stud quality. The less important Daughters of the Ninth House were themselves still bleary from last eve. Since the Matron and First Daughter weren’t present—they were far away on their own plantation—I enjoyed the bluster and predictable chiding, which failed to hide their personal embarrassment at the blatant filching of a Son from their nest beneath their own noses.
“You should thank me,” I told them after they had run out of hot air, patting Micraen’s bottom while he stood demurely. “The Red Sisters might have gotten to him instead.”
It was a cheap shot to make them pause and give me an out, and I would learn to do better in time. I would finally be noticed and would make the necessary allies alongside the inevitable enemies.
That first early cycle, however, in the hushed, whispering Court of the Valsharess, I remembered laughing out loud before I left, and the sound of my own delight echoed back at me.
CHAPTER 2
Spectacle was a regular part of our sustenance at Court.
Within another decade, I would approach that important marker of having survived my first century among the Davrin Elves of the Deep. Over the next five turns, I recognized familiar, mortal wounds in pride, and I observed the arrogance of simultaneously testing and knowing one’s place, of playing for better rewards or besting another. I saw, somehow, this often led to inertia after the flavor of victory wore off.
Life at Court was very much as it had been with Jilrina and Kaltra always on my tail. On occasion, Mother did something that made them shrink back and rethink their fantasies of outright killing her or me. But not often enough, in my opinion.