Tommy stared at the sleeping girl on his bed. Her flushed cheeks were stained with the tracks of her tears, and right at the corner of her mouth, there was a blob of thick white gunk. He traced his fingers over her bottom lip, feeling his back sting with the stretch. He’d fucked her hard while she’d cried for him, and she’d clawed the skin off his back while he’d done it.
“Sweet Erato,” he whispered. “What a wicked, wild thing you were tonight.”
A thought came to him as he muttered those words, and his eyes strayed from the face he’d come to adore to his favourite place in the world; his writing desk. Shifting off the bed slowly so as not to wake her, he grabbed his old greyed shirt. It was damp from where he’d bled on it, but he ignored that, dragging it over his head and padding across the bare boarded floor to his workspace.
The top sheet of his pad already had words scribbled on it, but they were useless. Thoughtless, directionless rambles that wouldn’t ever amount to anything. He grimaced at it, tearing it off quietly. He should have known better than to try to write without first watching Erato play. Everything was about her these days, anything that didn’t come from her was a waste of time.
He was sitting and scribbling before his discarded work even hit the waste bin…
Cahal squinted and blinked when the silent man removed the cloth that had bound his eyes. It didn’t take long for his sight to adjust, as they’d become used to the dark on his walk here. He’d believed that they’d taken his sight and dizzied him to confuse him of whatever direction they’d brought him in but, given what he was looking at how, he couldn’t not question himself.
He stared in wonder at the sight of the monolith before him. This place could never be hidden from anyone, it was just too big. The hooded ones had told him it would astound him. Even the elders of his village had told him it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. And they’d been right. So far, everything they’d ever told him about the Legend of Lyonesse was true.
Treaded soil dug into Cahal’s feet as he started to walk again, and one thought now occupied his mind as he headed toward the towering stones at the head of the circle: had they been right about the last part of the legend? About the woman who supposedly waited for him inside the circle? Would she be unlike anything he’d ever seen before?
As he approached those monstrously high stones, the moon shone between them. The beam of light showed a clear pathway that led to an altar. More hooded ones came from the shadows to join the silent man. They led Cahal along this moonlit path, not stopping until he was pressed up against it.
They didn’t say a word to him as they raised him up onto the chill stone. All they did was hum softly while encouraging him to lie down. Two men wound leather straps around his wrists, pulling them out to the side, fixing the other ends of the long, rough lengths to posts in the ground. Another two bound his ankles in the same manner, rendering him spread-legged and unable to move.
Then they left him, in the cold quiet of the night. The moon illuminated him but did nothing to warm him. All he could do was lie there and wait for the one who had been waiting for him.
From her dark perch by the entrance to the monolith, Lyonesse watched the hooded ones bring the offering from the village. She could see him clearly enough, and already his smooth body and tension-taut muscles were awakening the beast within her.
She slipped from her resting place, but didn’t advance. Her eyes were on the retreating men, ensuring that they were back in the shadows before she left the one that concealed her. Taking long strides, she walked toward the altar. Her feet made no impressions, even though the soil of the path made for her was soft.
When she reached the worship stone, she stilled. She could smell him. The flower oils they’d rubbed on his skin couldn’t mask his true scent. The scent of fear and anticipation in his sweat was clear to her despite the flower water they’d bathed him in. And no amount of oils could disguise the arousal that leaked from every pore.
Every other sacrifice had required her scrutiny before she would accept them, but not this one. This one she would willingly receive, exactly as he was. His dark hair covered his face so she knew he couldn’t see her. That would have pleased her with anyone else, but not him. She wanted him to see her splendour. She wanted him to know terror.
His hair was soft beneath her fingers, his forehead flawless. She used her fingers to pull those black tumbles back, twisting them into a braid that would need to be cut out if he chose not to keep it.
See me, she thought as she walked to head of the altar. See what you have been given to.
Cahal did see her, but it wasn’t his terror made the beast in her roar. It wasn’t his beauty, or the way he strained against the leather bonds that held him, helpless, on her stone table. It was a glimmer in his eyes that said he hadn’t been forced to come to her that made the lion stalk in its cage. This one wasn’t a sacrifice. He had offered himself.
The lash at her hip snaked out, leaving a long red streak over Cahal’s pale back. He swallowed his scream, impressing and infuriating Lyonesse in equal measure. She admired his strength, but wanted his weakness.
She struck him again, then again and again, marking his skin from his shoulders to the curve at the bottom of his back. He bucked and groaned, hissed through clenched teeth, but not once did he cry out for her to stop.
Would I stop? She measured his bloodied flesh, wondering how much of this he could take. If he pleaded with me to stop, would I? She was a Goddess, so the answer should have been no. But she wasn’t certain of that, now. Not with Cahal.
Reaching for the tassel whip that hung from her leather belt, she began to flick her wrist. The strips were shorter than the one she’d been using, but instead of one there were many. The knotted ends thumped Cahal’s body, sending droplets of his blood through the air each time they left his skin. They dotted over Lyonesse’s naked form and she smiled down at herself. Oh, she had long loved to wear this kind of decoration.
But it still irked her that Cahal had yet to cry out for her. She wanted his fire and his fight, yes, but she also wanted him to yield. To let his body loosen, to accept what she was giving him. He’d chosen to take it, after all.
Maybe he’d give her what she needed if she gave him something he hadn’t been told to expect. The silent would never tell, but the villagers knew some of what happened to those who entered the stone circle.
The altar was warm beneath her hands and knees as she climbed up. Cahal’s skin was even warmer still. He was wet, damaged, no longer perfection. And that made him all the more desirable to the beast.
Lyonesse straddled the young man’s thighs. His buttocks were hard beneath her hands, but the more she kneaded them the softer they became. The little bottle of oil she kept in a pocket on her belt was quickly emptied in the channel between his fleshy mounds, and she stroked the polished wooden length that poked out from between her hips.
Cahal moaned when he felt it probing his opening. He tensed, wanting to deny her, but after just a few heartbeats he curled his hips, inviting her to do what she would. And that’s when she got her cry. As soon as the tip of the wooden phallus entered his body, Cahal started to keen. It was a soft sound, but it was music to the beast’s ears.
Lyonesse rocked her hips back and forth, fucking the man who had given himself to her. At first she could tell he hated it, hated the invasion of her. But soon enough he was moving against her, encouraging her to give him all she had.
She fucked him without mercy, burying every inch of her wooden cock inside him. Her nails clawed his wounds, she rubbed his blood on her nipples, all the while staring at the moon and willing its light to banish any passing clouds.
Cahal sobbed when Lyonesse climbed down from the altar. He was sure she would abandon him there, but he needn’t have feared. The beast wasn’t finished feeding, and he would beg for her to be done with him before the end.
She used the knife at her belt to cut his bonds. When she slapped his thigh he turned over. When she climbed up he held up his veiny cock, yelling for the Gods when her wet cunt sank down on it.
Lyonesse remained still, showing Cahal the knife when he dared surge beneath her. She reached into her belt, plucking out a small candle. It flickered to life without the aid of a spark. Such a small thing to her, but an impossible act of magic to the one she now possessed.
She watched the flame melting the wax, held it closer to Cahal’s skin so she could see his paleness brightened by an orange glow. And then she tipped it. Poured the hot wax over his stomach, delighted in the flex of his muscles.
Shapes formed, some of them made up of wax, others bruising, welted skin. His ruined appearance made the lion ravenous, and Lyonesse was only too happy to feed it.
She began to ride her prize, brought his hands to her mouth and bit them, made him scratch her and himself with his nails. Her virgin offering lay there and let himself be fucked as if being used was the only thing in the world he’d ever known. His cock was so hard, so long inside her.
She pulled away, grabbing it, stroking it fast between her swinging breasts until it erupted on her chest. Cahal was lost in a world of his own, but she would soon bring him back. As soon as her mouth closed around it, it hardened and she sucked on it right up until it started to spurt again. This time she aimed it at his chest, rubbing it into his open wounds.
She fucked herself with his cock then she fucked him with hers, making sure she left the lion’s mark on every inch of his body.
And then, finally, she felt her own release building inside of her.
Her thoughts were violent. Vicious. Bordering on the barbaric. She wanted to destroy Cahal, but not in the way she had the ones before him. Those she had left in ruin, but that’s not what she wanted for him. She wanted to lay this one at her feet in a mess of come soaked satisfaction.
He’d taken so much already. Every bite, every scratch, every wild, uncontrolled thrust. He’d begged her in the end, screamed for her, bled for her, but even now as he lay there almost spent, he was offering her what little he had left. And she would take it, too, because it was hers. He was hers, and by the time she’d finished with him there was no way would he ever cry out for any God again. The only word he would ever utter in hushed worship would be her name.
Lifting him, she pushed Cahal to the ground. He stared up at her, expectant, desirous, uncertain. She touched herself while he watched. Her hands on her breasts, her belly, the swathe of hair between her legs.
When she bent over the altar he knew what to do.
Cahal rose to his feet. Leaning against the cruel beauty in front of him, he took his cock in his hand and pressed it against her. It slid inside and he started to fuck her as swiftly as he could. She felt so warm one minute and so cold the next. So young then so old, so new then so used up.
He knew what she wanted from him. She’d made his cock empty itself more times than he could count, but not once had she let it happen inside her. Now, he was to fuck this feline Goddess until he filled her with everything that was him.
It occurred to him that he didn’t know when he should do it, but Lyonesse showed him. She began to shake and howl, and the tight channel of her cunt became even tighter still. He couldn’t have stopped it milking him dry even if he’d wanted to. She pulsed and throbbed, grasping, banging on the altar until it sounded like the very stones around them had started to fall.
And then Cahal was alone, standing outside of the monolith. The sun was just beginning to rise behind him, warming his unblemished skin. He looked around for the hooded ones, but not one of them was to be found.
This had never happened before. Nobody ever left Lyonesse’s circle on their own two feet. Setting off at a slow pace, Cahal wondered: maybe the last part of the Legend of Lyonesse was true. Maybe the village had sent the perfect offering this time. Could he really be the one?
He watched the sun rise with a smile. Maybe at the next solstice he’d get to find out…
“What are you writing?”
Tommy looked up at the still sleepy girl who had just leant against the arm of his chair. His eyes were strained and his head ached, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t, she was his entire world packaged up in a petite feminine body.
Smiling, he reached out and stroked the leather thong that encircled her body and rested on her hips. The little charms there were adorable, especially the dagger, candle, and lion. She’d brought the silver pieces back from her holiday with her friends, intending to make a bracelet out of them, but Tommy had threaded them onto the leather and Erato hadn’t taken it off since he had tied it to her.
She looked so beautiful in the moments after sleep. There was a softness to her, something that left her whenever she opened her legs for the men he paid to perform for him. He loved this softer side to her, though it always seemed to bring out the rougher side of him.
He pointed at his groin and she grinned, kicking her leg over the chair so she could sit on him.
He held her hips and watched her as she rode him slowly, imagining moonlight on her skin, the roaring of lions filling the air. She’d love this new story when he read it to her, but for now he was content to let her have her way with him. Maybe in time he’d learn to spin an erotic tale without having to watch some stranger fuck his muse first. Maybe one day, Erato would teach him to be the leading man in his own story.
**If you liked this story, why not check out the first one featuring Tommy and Erato? Click here!**