Chapter 17 Part 2 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

Nerr slipped behind Temmin and put His arms around him, stroking him until his head rolled back against His broad shoulder.

Neya pinched his nipple. "Pay attention." Temmin brought his head up with a start. "Better." She straddled his lap and brought his hands to her breasts. They were heavy and full, perfect as his hands had always known they would be. Every time he'd ever looked at Allis, he had imagined her breasts, just like this.

A knife cut through his arousal. This was not Allis. He touched Allis's body, but the Lady was not Allis. He had wanted his first to be her. "I am Allis," said Neya. "But then, I am every woman who desires a man. I know your thoughts. I am a Goddess. Allis is far away, but she feels this, and she will remember this. We are both your first, and you will have her many times before your service is through. Now, please Me."

She brought Her breasts closer to his face, and he ran his tongue around each nipple before taking one in his mouth. She tasted like no human woman--not Anda, nor his ancestor's memories of Emmae. She tasted of flowers: the honeysuckle he plucked off the walls of the stable and ate with Alvo back home on lazy summer evenings, the sunlight still slanting low among the trees. What an odd thing to come to mind.

"Everything you've ever loved, every person, every place," Neya whispered, "everyone and everything you've ever wanted, I am all of that. I am the fulfillment of desire."

All his yearnings converged into one. He kissed Her deeply, tongue searching Her mouth and finding each love there. Nerr's hand reached between them, guiding him inside Her. The head rested briefly at Her entrance, and then She was on him.

Hot and wet, yes, he knew women were hot and wet inside from his limited experience both real and inherited from the book, but this was a perfect wetness he would drown in, a perfect heat he would burn in, burn to ashes until all that was left was his smile. She fit around him as if he'd been made for Her, and he wondered if he had been. The ecstasy flooded him again, and when he returned from it, She still rode him in a long, slow rhythm. "You know nothing, Temmin, nothing at all," she murmured. "But you will learn." She threw her head back and let out a long sigh of pleasure. She pulsed all around him, always moving, riding him and coming over and over but never letting him spend, keeping him in a driven euphoria, driven to please Her no matter what. All he wanted was that, to stay sheathed inside Her, to laugh with each joyful ripple that moved through Her.

Neya rose up on Her knees; the warm air against his suddenly exposed cock felt icy cold. She lay back on the bed, her arms and legs open and appealing. "There is an old, old ritual, before the founding of your line, Prince Temmin, before your namesake was ever thought of. Your people don't remember it. But in the men of your line it still lives, buried deep in memory, and I have waited so long for you to remember--a thousand years I've been waiting for you to return to Me. Bring down the blessing on your land, on your people. I am the field, you are the plow."

Temmin fell on Her, sliding back inside with a grunt. The deep earthy smell came to him again; it sprouted into green tendrils that curled around him as he furrowed inside Her; they held him close and twined around his root. The green burst into bloom, simple, homelike flowers at first--honeysuckle, pinks, sweet peas, fields of daffodils, all flowers that made him think of Whithorse again. Then came white roses and gardenias, freesias and tuberose, the scent of the incense in Allis's ordeal, reminders of her suffering, and he wept as he kissed the Goddess inhabiting her. His tears ripened the blooms into fruits: apples striped in red, russeted pears, berries wild and cultivated, purple plums with their white-bloomed skins, peaches soft as a woman's thigh, and some he'd never seen before.

"Well done, my King, well done," She sighed.

"Lady, I am not King!"

"You will be. Look at Me, Temmin." He gazed into the green of Her eyes again. The fruit slowly rotted; the smell of decay and dry leaves filled his nose. Figures reappeared in Her eyes: his father on a battlefield; Sedra shielding a child; Ellika standing against Tremontine soldiers; Jenks galloping across the rolling hills of Whithorse, sword in hand; Ansella bloody-handed and sobbing; Teacher and the Traveler Queen, wreathed in flames.

"What's going to happen, Lady?" he cried.

"You. You will choose to be either Temmin the Liberator or Temmin the Magnificent. Tell Teacher: It's time. Take your blessing, Temmin--don't be afraid, take it! It's yours, take it!"

Temmin let out a long roar, lips snarling back from his teeth, and plunged into Her.


Gudy's picture


... to tiny little pieces. It's fun and heady and powerful and earthy and erotic and awe-inspiring and mysterious, all in one go.

Zandu Ink's picture


Not that you aren't a Master wordsmith, but I am constantly amazed at your ability to engrave these images on my mind. I was THERE. I could see, smell, and hear this scene, and I SO envy Temmin right now.

Bonus points to whomever knows where the post title comes from.

MeiLin's picture

Most High

"Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" Biggrin

Zandu Ink's picture


Only a toon could come up with that idea...

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