🔥 Kryndor's Bride part 14

PART 14

CERYN

The Draevun flower is beautiful. Ethereal. I don't think it needs the pheromones of aroused topdwellers to gain its magic.

It sits on a pedestal inside this giant room. It's massive. A passionate, deep red coloring its petals.

I've tried to picture it many times over the past few days approaching the ceremony. I spent significant effort, even drawing sketches of it during my lectures. Fighting to avoid imagining what the rest of the room would look like. What the topdwellers would be wearing, doing.

Mael noticed my distraction and tried to reassure me.

She said it would be fine because, after a while, you get so lost in the action that you forget about the eyes surrounding you.

She made it sound like she had been in the room, and I couldn't help but ask. She hesitated for a while before revealing a rare tidbit of her past: before she was a midwife, she was a servant in her youth and had witnessed the legendary ceremonies in this room.

"Ceryn."

I look up at the Xor–At Varkon. He's shirtless, only wearing white pants that match my white, backless dress that's more like a robe compared to what the other women in this room are wearing.

They stand in front of couches and chairs that look very similar to the one Varkon's sister gifted me. Their hands are clasped, and their heads bowed as they await for the Veilmaster to exit. He just finished his prayers, and I didn't hear a word because I was staring at this flower and wondering how in the world I got to this situation.

"We must begin," warns Varkon.

The greetings and prayers are done. The doors shut and curtains drawn. The servants have been lined against the wall. Oils have been distributed throughout the room, carefully set on tables near the leather couches, which I suspect were chosen because no other couch would survive the many bodily fluids that will be flowing.

"Right," I whisper, tugging at my skirt. Mael chose this dress. It's not very voluminous and only shows the skin on my arms and back. Its weight offers a sense of security.

I wish I had the confidence of the topdwelling women around me. They're beautiful. Their faces are painted like they're going to war, their bodies are covered in sheer clothing that reveals their nipples and the patch of hair at the apex of their thighs, and glitter has been rubbed across their muscular, tanned skin.

The air is practically electric as the young topdwellers wait to vrell long into the night.

"Goddess Norra be with us," speaks the king, breaking the silence.

"Norra be with us," the topdwellers echo. 

Norra. The goddess Mael taught me so much about. Goddess of life and death thought to bless the Draevun flower and allow women fertility through its vessel.

I wonder if she's watching. If she will grant the blessing.

"Let us begin," says Varkon, never taking his eyes off me.

A servant comes rushing forward with a silver platter. There's an ink dish and a small brush, both designated for me.

I wonder how many times–if any–Varkon has participated in this ceremony. Have women written their names on his cock? Or is that only reserved for concubines?

I wonder what his bride and queen will think of this when she looks back and realizes she was not the first to write her name on his skin.

"With this sacrament, we ask the Goddess for her gift." His eyes scan the crowd before setting on me. "I will join you all in your prayers long, long into the night."

Goddesses have mercy.

Varkon told me the topdwellers would make me wish that the earth would open up and swallow me back into The Underhold. I feel that now. His violet eyes stare with an intensity I've never seen before, and I very much want to hide.

He reaches for the brush and dips it into the ink dish, revealing soft, gold-tipped bristles.

He extends it, and I take it into my trembling hand as the topdwellers look on expectantly.

Varkon reaches for the drawstring on his white trousers, and I stare into his eyes as he tugs his cock free. He doesn't care about who's looking. He only has eyes for me.

"Whenever you're ready," he says–patient, even now.

But one glance at his cock, and I see not one shred of patience.

The thing is engorged. Ready to vrell and impregnate. Angry that it has been denied for so long.

I swallow deeply and lower myself, my dress pooling around me, a drop of ink falling off the brush as my hand trembles.

As I kneel in front of the king, his cock casting a shadow over me, he looks all the more formidable. Godly, even. The murals of mystical beings that are painted on the ceiling are overshadowed by the steel cock above me. All I see is the Xor.

I reach my hand close, and he throbs. I nearly drop the brush in shock.

The brush makes contact with the side of his cock, and the Xor grunts. The muscles in his giant thighs flex.

C

E

R

Y

N

I write my name slowly, and it gets butchered by the thick, bulging veins. I try my best to write tidily, but there is nothing tidy about the cock I'm writing on. It's textured, thick, and alive as it throbs. Proof that this man is the king because no other male in this room can match his girth and length.

A bead of moisture gathers at the tip of the king's cock. Ink. And I realize that the tables have turned. Now, he's the one that's going to leave his mark on me, cock-first.

Fear, anxiety, and dizzying thrill brew low in my belly. Melting right out of my sex, adding to the smell of pheromones in the room.

I am aroused. Responding to the call of the Xor's cock as it throbs and jerks so close to my face.

I rise slowly, looking away. My face is so hot and red that I feel feverish.

I reach to set the paintbrush on the table beside the flower but don't get a chance. The Xor snatches my wrist and yanks me to him, sending the paintbrush clattering to the floor.

"Varkon," he growls against my ear.

A reminder of which name to moan.

"Begin!" he roars to the rest of the room before closing the distance and claiming my lips.

Kissing me just like I daydreamed during my lectures. I couldn't picture the flower, but I pictured this kiss. Passionate, hungry. It couldn't have been any other way.

His tongue lashes against mine, punishing me for all the times I sassed him. His fingers dig into my hips. His breathing comes hot and heavy, his exhales curling against my face. 

And his cock…pressed tightly against me, the ink already smudging between us.

The Xor takes me like the storms that ravage his kingdoms.

He takes me like the unassailable ocean.

The bulk of his body surrounds me, drowning the sounds of moaning around us. All I sense is him. His scent–no fancy oils or perfume, just a deep, male musk. His taste–hot and sweet. And his touch. God, his touch. He grasps me like a lover, although there's only business between us. His two hands are tight at my hips, and his cock is like a third hand nudging against my sodden pussy.

He begins to tremble–emotions building in his powerful body. With a final dominating twirl of his tongue, he pulls away and heads to the back of the room. He yanks me behind him, and we walk past couples fucking on the couches and on the floor.

"Move!" he growls at a couple against the window, sending them scattering.

He yanks a long, winding curtain that seems attached to the roof. He tugs me inside, concealing the rest of the room behind the draped curtain.

"Finally," comes his gravelly voice as he reaches for the straps of my dress and peels them down.

Violet eyes fasten on my chest like I'm the most incredible sight in this majestic palace.

"I've got you all to myself."