learnandshift | for storiesfromhome

for storiesfromhome

"Now, my lady," said the priestess. "You will come to no harm. You will suffer no pain. But please, only do not offend him."

The words were probably not as comforting as the priestess meant them to be. She could only imagine what the bride was going through, so suddenly brought to the temple, bathed, anointed with scented oils, prayed over for nearly three hours, and now escorted to the chamber of her husband, the Lord. The priestess had never even been alone with him, much less touched him, but she had faith in the benevolence of the Lord all the same.

One could only imagine that such faith wouldn't be of much comfort to an outsider.

The Lord dwelled in the top of the tower, alone, as always. That would change soon, as would he. They stopped before the grand white doors, where the priestesses all said one more prayer together, then opened the door and ushered Ardan inside.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The motion began tentatively, gentle pumping in and out of her as they both got used to the sensation. He found it more fascinating than arousing, at this point, though it stirred something in him that he'd never encountered before-- some warmth he could not give a name to, some blooming thing in the depths of his being that he couldn't identify, but that he wanted to understand. And she did not seem to be in pain (the priestesses explained to him the signs.) Tense and still, yes, resembling the stone even in her softness and warmth, but the noise she made... they did not tell him about that noise.

He pulled her knees apart, only slightly, so that he could witness it. The sight of his limb thrusting inside of her. It got easier, little by little, her body making way for him, to where he experimented with widening the tendril, though only a little at a time. She could not feel what he could, the essence within her that he could now sense, as though he'd uncovered it buried inside her. It would feel no different than the air leaving her lungs after a yawn as he sampled it, taking it within himself as he continued to pleasure her, and restored nearly as quickly as a breath. His first taste of his Vessel-Bride's purest nature, that which would transform him from the morass of darkness into... into...

He must finish the ritual first. Excited as he was, it would do no good to hurry into the process, lest he lose his concentration and come out like some... well. He could not get any less formed. He would contemplate on it as he watched his pretty wife reacting to his ministrations.

It felt so strange, this thing her husband was doing to her, unbelievably, unspeakably strange. Ardan had imagined what it might feel like to make love with another person: she knew the mechanics of it from her work with Mistress Izun and felt no shame in experimenting with it herself. But her brief forays into sex had been nothing like this, like coupling with another. This was submitting her body to another being, another entity whose thoughts she could not know and whose actions she could not predict. She lay still and stiff on the altar, on this forced bed of rituals she could not understand to a being that she could not trust, and felt her most vulnerable parts bared to him.

She tensed as husband thrust in, the muscle of her straining against unaccustomed pressures. There was a weight on top of her, it pushed her against the stone of the altar; her entrance clenched around him. As he pulled out the pressure was released, her muscles relaxed - only for him to thrust in again. It did not hurt, exactly, not enough to make her gasp or cry out. It ached, a vague, flat pain inside of her as she stretched around the intrusion. It felt strange, felt wrong, like a seal had been broken, like the boundaries of her body had been invaded. Her hips rocked slowly against the polished stone beneath her; the nails of one hand bit hard into the tentacle it was still unconsciously gripping. She took deep breaths against the rhythm - expand her chest and inhale as he entered her, exhale as he pulled away. Inhale - and exhale, inhale - and exhale.

And then a new sensation was growing inside of her, a gentle deflating that had nothing to do with her breathing. It was as if something was trickling out of her body, not air, but -

- But then it was back again. Some reserve inside of her had been topped up again, something indescribable had been put back together. The invasion of her body had not stopped, but something else...

Another rush of pressure, a strain, an ache. He was pushing in farther, her body was yielding to more of him. A withdrawl, a contracting. Another thrust -

"A-ah!"

Her hips jumped; her heart stuttered in its beating from the pain as her hymen broke. She shut her eyes, though this did not change the quality of the utter darkness around him. She must relax, relax and breathe through it. Her husband would not want her to cry out.

Pain. That was pain. He slowed suddenly, orange eyes shifting in the mass as though tilting his head at her. They said it might hurt her a bit, but he had no hope of telling if it was the correct kind of pain or not.

Still, though he slowed, he did not stop, continuing to move in and out of her while his other tendrils touched her. Something was stirring within him. Her essence, mingling with his own, already doing things to him. He'd never known sensations like this. Never known any sensations at all, really, but it felt as though some new thing was forming within him, like a pearl forms within an oyster (a metaphor he would not understand at all.) He was gaining things. After an existence marked by nothing but absorbing what he was told, things were happening inside him on their own.

The ritual was nearly finished. He need only... well. They said there would come a point when her body would "climax," though he had no idea what that meant. Only that it would provide him more of her essence and seal their bond as husband and wife, that he might begin to change. But he was already changing. How would he know when he was through?

One new change rumbled from deep within the mass, suddenly. It started as low as a cat's purr, then grew into an almost moaning roar. The utter silence of the Lord shattered as his new voice erupted from within, grew to nearly ear-piercing volume, then broke away. He looked almost startled by it, slowing his thrusts again for a moment. The orange eyes blinked for the first time. Then his tendrils lifted her hips, tilting her body for an easier entrance to continue taking her.

She was breathing in gasps, quick and arrhythmic, no longer able to hold on to the beat that she had forced herself into. Her breath was being forced out of her by his thrusts, as the weight of his tentacles moving on her abdomen and chest pinned her down with each stroke into her. She could not get enough air to fill her lungs, she knew she was going to start hyperventilating and the muscles inside of her were raw and sore from the broken seal of her hymen. She could feel the stickiness of blood mixing with the strained slickness inside of her, the wetness he had forced forth when he had touched and caressed her. It hurt and...

...And suddenly he was slowing. The limb still pushed itself inside of her, still stretched her in ways that made her ache, but - he was slower, gentler once again. Her eyes slid open. Above her, within the dome of his shadows that made up her entire world, she could see the big, emotionless orange circles of his eyes. They were at an angle, cocked the way one might cock one's head out of curiosity. She'd seen him do this before, but she had not been sure then if he really had been feeling any emotion so human as curiosity then. She gulped in a breath of air gratefully as he slid out of her, let her hips and thighs relax slightly toward the altar beneath her while his tentacle was not forcing them upward at an angle. She breathed deeply, staring up at the eyes that really did look like they were curious about something. What was he wondering about? What had made him look this way at her? What had made him slow down? Was it that she had cried out - that she was in pain?

She gasped through her teeth again as he thrust inward, renewing the pressure. Her hips canted upwards, her toes and fingers curled as the girth of his limb passed through the raw muscle of her entrance and sank in, rubbing against the sore remains of her hymen and opening her more and more deeply. She latched her fingers around the tentacle that still lay under her hand. She was not certain if it was meant to be comforting her, or even if she'd hurt him by digging her fingernails into its smooth, black flesh. She was not certain if he would take kindly to her moving it, or if he would take her direction as an affront and start hurting her again for it. But he might be curious about her, and so she had to try. She let her knees close briefly as he slid out of her once more, the lithe shadow-flesh and muscle more easily out past her inner labia. She moved her hand to try and lift the tentacle -

When the rumbling started. Out of nowhere, out of everywhere at once, all around her tiny world made up of his shadows, a low, thrumming sound. It reverberated through the stone altar, reverberated through her flesh, made her already hard nipples pebble and her throat work to swallow. It vibrated against her back, her legs, through her hips, made her pelvis thrum as he began the long thrust back inside of her. His tentacle was humming with the reverberation, her body was moving in counterpoint, her muscles pulsed and vibrated minutely against him as he penetrated her. She was pinned down under his weight, the rumbling was getting louder, louder, it was hurting her ears; his limb was pushing into her until her muscles stretched and screamed against him, her entrance fluttered around him and she was helpless against the wrench of pain it caused inside. She lifted her hand from the tentacle that she had been holding and was about to strike it hard with the palm of her hand to make him stop -

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped. She stared up at the orange eyes above her, frightened of the sheer size of her husband, the fact that a mere noise from him could have hurt her. Her hips flattened briefly against the altar again as he pulled out of her but her heart continued to pound, her breathing was still uneven and her body remained taut. Had he been rebuking her for trying to move him? Had he wanted her to continue to lie still until he was finished with her?

But then the huge orange eyes blinked. She would have assumed she was imagining it, had her senses not been sharpened to a needlepoint on his every movement: just for a fraction of a second the eyes had gone dark against his shadow, then in the next fraction of a second they had popped into existence again, sunset orange. He had blinked his eyes, like a living human. She tensed again he gave another thrust inwards, rocking her hips back with momentum, opening her for him by another tiny, aching measure. Then she gasped aloud as two other tentacles wrapped their smooth muscle around her hips and tilted them up, canting her back at a sharper angle, lifting her legs so that they were spread wide and her feet hung in the air. She could see where their bodies connected now over the plane of her body; the tentacle shone with her wetness as it slipped halfway out. When it thrust in again it moved faster, deeper: she threw her head back against the altar with a soft cry as the soreness inside of her flared from the friction. She wanted him to stop, wanted to tell him he was hurting her in words he would understand.

Breathing hard, she lay her hand back on the tentacle that she had been gripping. Gently, carefully, she wrapped her fingers around it; if he would let her, she would begin to lift it and move it down her body. She stared up into his eyes, biting her lip as another thrust rocked through her. She spoke in a breathless whisper.]

Ah- Please...?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

for storiesfromhome

No problem!

no subject

no subject

no subject