Whatever happened, she told herself, she had to stay calm. Whatever was going on around her, whatever the entity to whom she was married was about to do to her, she had to lie still and remain compliant. she repeated the thought, the command as a litany in her mind. Be calm, do not fight, be calm, do not cry out, be calm, do not run, be calm, be calm, be calm...
But it was a battle against her instincts. Every inch of her, every tiny cell in her body that had evolved from those of the primitive proto-humans who had fled from wild animals and survived the cruelties of nature was commanding her to get up and run. To escape this gigantic predator that had sunk down on top of her and was prodding at her vulnerable body. Her legs were shaking with the compulsion, her fingers twitched convulsively, her stomach seemed to writhe within her like its own trapped creature. She was breathing in deep, silent gasps like one who was running, exhausting herself just from the effort of staying still. Her back and the backs of her arms and legs were quite numb from the frigid stone but her front felt overheated, steamed as if she had been leaning over a boiling cooking pot for too long. She could feel sweat on her forehead that made her body shiver all the more with cold.
But the effort of controlling her own body was as nothing compared to the concentration with which she was spending on him. She was so blinded by his ethereal shroud of darkness hovering just above her face that she could hardly tell that her eyes were open; but her other senses were sharpened to keenest needles in her desperation to decipher what he was doing. The sensations she was feeling against her skin were truly bizarre: there were more long limbs smoothing across her arms and legs and whispering over her torso and caressing her sides than any man had; she had lost count of how many there were among the tapered tips and heavy, lithe sections that she could only call his "arms" in her head. They did not feel like a man's arms, either: for all that she had never been touched like this before she knew that no human's body felt like this. They were covered in skin much like hers, it was true - the flesh was smooth and supple and yielding like that of a man in his prime, and it was hairless like a man's underarms or palms; and underneath the skin was the unmistakable definition of muscle, tougher than flesh or fat but much more pliant and elastic than bone; and all of it was warm, alive and solid. But that was where the similarities to the human body ended. There was no shape to the appendages that writhed and curled around her, no defined wrists or arms or thighs or fingers. They were just - long, muscular tubes, thicker and stronger toward one end and tapered off in a single tip toward the other. There was no joint or bone within them: they were uniformly, infinitely flexible strands of flesh. Even a serpent has a backbone, a head and a jaw, some definable features to give it a beginning and an end; her new husband had none of that. Above her was the mass of shadow that seemed to make up the better part of his body, so close and dark that she could not even see it move; on top of her torso was the weight of those indefinable coils of muscle, pressing down just lightly enough to allow her to breathe; at her limbs and the outlines of her body were the softly tickling tips, busily and unendingly moving against her. His body did not smell like that of a human, even when one limb brushed past the side of her face; there was no sweat or musk or even the unnatural scent of oils that men sometimes used to improve their appearance at their weddings. She could smell only the faint whiff of wax from the candles around the circumference of the altar, although those were entirely outside her sight now that her world was comprised only of the space beneath the shroud of his shadows. And as absent as the smell of him was the sound of him, for she could hear neither the sound of his breath nor the creaking of joints as he shifted his weight to touch her. There was only the sound of her own quick breaths and the smell of the soaps and oils used to prepare her as a bride. Nothing at all but her own body and a few alien pieces of her husband.
Suddenly there was a movement among the random, languorous movements of his limbs. She could not see it, but she could feel in the heat and weight removed from her leg that one of the long tentacles was moving. She braced herself to feel it settle again, perhaps against her face or across her chest, though her body was already so tightly braced that she could hardly become any stiffer -only to jump with a muffled gasp when it settled low on her abdomen, its tip touching against the mound of skin where her legs met. Her heart picked up speed from its already frenetic pace, beating so quickly that her chest ached and the black world before her eyes seemed to swim.
Slowly, methodically, the tip of the limb slithered down her pubic mound, slipping easily into the tight space between her clenched thighs. She could feel its progress as a thin trail of heat, like dripping hot water from the bath down her dry body. It insinuated itself into that space and stroked the silken, vulnerable flesh, sketched out the shape of her, smoothing down the press of her thighs and then curving back up to touch her sex. Her hands clenched hard at the strange tickling sensation; her teeth ground together but she did not dare move. It was caressing the cleft of her now, finding where she could be opened and pushing gently but irresistibly inward, forcing her thighs apart to accommodate its narrow shape. It parted her carefully, its movements slow and delicate. It stroked the smooth, still dry walls of her outer labia, a minute line of tickles further inward. She swallowed hard, battling hard against the urge to jerk away. It found the closed shell of her inner labia, ghosted its thin, exploring tip against the heated flesh - her fingernails bit hard into her own palms - and then pushed on, ever in toward her center. It caressed her here, too, on the soft inside of her final defenses, trailing random patterns of sensation across hot, living tissue. And then it was at the core of her, the tight ring of muscle that already convulsed minutely from the stimulation. A languid, gentle last push, a bizarre sensation as the limb seemed to narrow and shrink against her - and then the limb was penetrating inside of her body.
Ardan's eyes were wide above the moving tentacles, staring into the nothingness above and around her, her body as unmoving and immovable as a stone. She had sucked in a gasp of frigid air and had not let it out; her sides and chest were quite still and her legs were pressed hard together. She could feel her husband touching her all over, on every part of her body, inside her body, an invasion for all that it was not brutal or bloody. Her thighs were squeezing against the length of tentacle pressing down between them, her knees were slightly raised and her feet were planted against the smooth stone altar. She could feel more keenly than she had felt anything in her life the narrow tentacle sliding its way inside her, pushing her open so that its heat mingled and sparked with her heat and the tight muscles inside of her pulsed against it. She could feel it as it pushed in, withdrew... pushed in again, inevitable. Her hips pressed flat against the altar, the muscles of her belly stretched taut. Unbidden, she let out a soft, keening moan.
Aaand now it's my turn to be a bit late! Apologies, the end of term slowed me down a bit.
But it was a battle against her instincts. Every inch of her, every tiny cell in her body that had evolved from those of the primitive proto-humans who had fled from wild animals and survived the cruelties of nature was commanding her to get up and run. To escape this gigantic predator that had sunk down on top of her and was prodding at her vulnerable body. Her legs were shaking with the compulsion, her fingers twitched convulsively, her stomach seemed to writhe within her like its own trapped creature. She was breathing in deep, silent gasps like one who was running, exhausting herself just from the effort of staying still. Her back and the backs of her arms and legs were quite numb from the frigid stone but her front felt overheated, steamed as if she had been leaning over a boiling cooking pot for too long. She could feel sweat on her forehead that made her body shiver all the more with cold.
But the effort of controlling her own body was as nothing compared to the concentration with which she was spending on him. She was so blinded by his ethereal shroud of darkness hovering just above her face that she could hardly tell that her eyes were open; but her other senses were sharpened to keenest needles in her desperation to decipher what he was doing. The sensations she was feeling against her skin were truly bizarre: there were more long limbs smoothing across her arms and legs and whispering over her torso and caressing her sides than any man had; she had lost count of how many there were among the tapered tips and heavy, lithe sections that she could only call his "arms" in her head. They did not feel like a man's arms, either: for all that she had never been touched like this before she knew that no human's body felt like this. They were covered in skin much like hers, it was true - the flesh was smooth and supple and yielding like that of a man in his prime, and it was hairless like a man's underarms or palms; and underneath the skin was the unmistakable definition of muscle, tougher than flesh or fat but much more pliant and elastic than bone; and all of it was warm, alive and solid. But that was where the similarities to the human body ended. There was no shape to the appendages that writhed and curled around her, no defined wrists or arms or thighs or fingers. They were just - long, muscular tubes, thicker and stronger toward one end and tapered off in a single tip toward the other. There was no joint or bone within them: they were uniformly, infinitely flexible strands of flesh. Even a serpent has a backbone, a head and a jaw, some definable features to give it a beginning and an end; her new husband had none of that. Above her was the mass of shadow that seemed to make up the better part of his body, so close and dark that she could not even see it move; on top of her torso was the weight of those indefinable coils of muscle, pressing down just lightly enough to allow her to breathe; at her limbs and the outlines of her body were the softly tickling tips, busily and unendingly moving against her. His body did not smell like that of a human, even when one limb brushed past the side of her face; there was no sweat or musk or even the unnatural scent of oils that men sometimes used to improve their appearance at their weddings. She could smell only the faint whiff of wax from the candles around the circumference of the altar, although those were entirely outside her sight now that her world was comprised only of the space beneath the shroud of his shadows. And as absent as the smell of him was the sound of him, for she could hear neither the sound of his breath nor the creaking of joints as he shifted his weight to touch her. There was only the sound of her own quick breaths and the smell of the soaps and oils used to prepare her as a bride. Nothing at all but her own body and a few alien pieces of her husband.
Suddenly there was a movement among the random, languorous movements of his limbs. She could not see it, but she could feel in the heat and weight removed from her leg that one of the long tentacles was moving. She braced herself to feel it settle again, perhaps against her face or across her chest, though her body was already so tightly braced that she could hardly become any stiffer -only to jump with a muffled gasp when it settled low on her abdomen, its tip touching against the mound of skin where her legs met. Her heart picked up speed from its already frenetic pace, beating so quickly that her chest ached and the black world before her eyes seemed to swim.
Slowly, methodically, the tip of the limb slithered down her pubic mound, slipping easily into the tight space between her clenched thighs. She could feel its progress as a thin trail of heat, like dripping hot water from the bath down her dry body. It insinuated itself into that space and stroked the silken, vulnerable flesh, sketched out the shape of her, smoothing down the press of her thighs and then curving back up to touch her sex. Her hands clenched hard at the strange tickling sensation; her teeth ground together but she did not dare move. It was caressing the cleft of her now, finding where she could be opened and pushing gently but irresistibly inward, forcing her thighs apart to accommodate its narrow shape. It parted her carefully, its movements slow and delicate. It stroked the smooth, still dry walls of her outer labia, a minute line of tickles further inward. She swallowed hard, battling hard against the urge to jerk away. It found the closed shell of her inner labia, ghosted its thin, exploring tip against the heated flesh - her fingernails bit hard into her own palms - and then pushed on, ever in toward her center. It caressed her here, too, on the soft inside of her final defenses, trailing random patterns of sensation across hot, living tissue. And then it was at the core of her, the tight ring of muscle that already convulsed minutely from the stimulation. A languid, gentle last push, a bizarre sensation as the limb seemed to narrow and shrink against her - and then the limb was penetrating inside of her body.
Ardan's eyes were wide above the moving tentacles, staring into the nothingness above and around her, her body as unmoving and immovable as a stone. She had sucked in a gasp of frigid air and had not let it out; her sides and chest were quite still and her legs were pressed hard together. She could feel her husband touching her all over, on every part of her body, inside her body, an invasion for all that it was not brutal or bloody. Her thighs were squeezing against the length of tentacle pressing down between them, her knees were slightly raised and her feet were planted against the smooth stone altar. She could feel more keenly than she had felt anything in her life the narrow tentacle sliding its way inside her, pushing her open so that its heat mingled and sparked with her heat and the tight muscles inside of her pulsed against it. She could feel it as it pushed in, withdrew... pushed in again, inevitable. Her hips pressed flat against the altar, the muscles of her belly stretched taut. Unbidden, she let out a soft, keening moan.