Princess of the Void-2.31. Look Into My Eyes [R-18

Flash. A little noise comes from his throat.

A voice like the universe creeping up behind him and whispering into his ear: “Kiss me, Grant.”

Yes. Yes, he will. He’ll kiss her and everything will be solved. The firmament’s final puzzle piece will click into place.

When he moves, it’s as if a dozen invisible Sykoras were all around him. As if he was nested in a luxuriating pile of them. He doesn’t even need to tell his body to do a thing. He just drifts on them. He can almost hear their purring in his ear, their warm little hands tracing his skin, their cuddly bodies pressing against him as they lift him, with infinite gentleness, into a sitting position. They take his arms and wrap them around their one visible body. A tender caress tilts his head to one side. His lips find his wife’s.

Her textured tongue caresses his for a moment before she leans away. “Is it working?”

He is so light. So taken care of. He wants to stay between her legs for the rest of his life. “It’s working,” he breathes.

Her material fingers join the invisible ones running up his spine. Flash. “How does it feel?”

Answering her question becomes the goal for which he has strove his entire existence. Don’t think, just speak. “Amazing,” he says, and the act of saying amazing submerges him in another wave of that beautiful comfort. And even though Sykora is only three feet tall, it’s as though she’s cradling him, as though he’s snuggling into a Sykora the size of a house, and her heartbeat on him is a triple-tap the entire firmament is pulsing to.

She smiles. God, her smile. He wants to live in it.

You do live in it, Grant.This woman is your home. Your warm hearth.

It strikes him with such staggering revelation he gets choked up. Beneath her, nothing can touch him. Nothing can hurt him.

“Mo—Sykora.” Jesus. No wonder Taiikari men are so readily submissive. He almost just called his wife mommy. Focus, Grant. “Is this how it always feels?”

Her giggle is the crackling of a fireplace on a snowy night. “I don’t know, dove. I’ve never felt it either, remember. Hold on.” Her fingers light on his wrist. She pushes down on the pale patch of skin under his palm and he feels the cool air tingling back across his skin. “This is supposed to help get rid of the afterwarmth.”

He shakes his head rapidly to clear away the last of the compulsion’s sweet curling haze. “That worked.” He rubs his forehead. “God. It’s like you were big-spooning my brain. It’s sexy. It can’t always be this sexy, right?”

“It broadcasts, somewhat,” Sykora says. “What the compeller’s feeling influences how the compulsion manifests. I wish I knew more, but, well. I’ve never compelled a lover. More first times, eh?”

“What are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling… happy. I feel in awe of the trust you have placed in me. And I feel the need to honor it. And to keep you safe. To make you as happy as I am. Is it coming through?”

“Oh, yeah.” He shivers. “It’s coming through.”

“Do you…” She snuggles into him, and their sizes shift back into reality as he becomes the shelter rather than the sheltered. Her chin lights on his sternum as those eyes—those eyes—zero in on his again. “Do you want to try compulsion sex?”

“We have to, right? We’re never getting this chance again.”

“Okay.” Her embrace tightens. “The usual word, right?”

He nods.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

He nods and her eyes flare again and yes. Yes. It’s back. The warmth.

“Lie down.” Her voice phases all around him, quiet and close and sending sensory chills down his spine. That warm, voluptuous force presses him lovingly onto his back. She slips down with him. Her hair pools and flows across his chest.

Flash.

“Undress me,” she says. He watches his hands rise and untie the lacy rope binding her robe shut. He uncovers his wife’s body, one shapely inch at a time. The robe slips from her shoulders and hips.

She’s trimmed her pubes for this. A cute little punctuating triangle. An arrowhead pointing him the way to paradise. The rest of her is as smooth as the silk he’s unwrapping her from. Her horns are high and pointed and proud. She’s not embarrassed by them anymore, doesn’t hide her face when he looks at them.

She has a little birthmark on her left breast, where the heavy teardrop of it curves back into her chest. Every time he looks at his wife, he sees something new. He has the rest of his life to discover her.

“This is what I learned to do.” She lowers herself into a straddle across his chest. Her palms rest on his stomach. She reverently unties his robe. “This is how I learned to make you happy. The Taiikari way. Just for tonight, let me be the one who takes care of you. Okay?”

“Say it with the flash.”

She giggles. “All right.” Flash. “Let me take care of you.” His brain tucks into her warm blanket. He doesn’t need to do a thing. He doesn’t need to think. Sykora will keep him safe.

Her touch is light on his chin. She draws his face back up into another reality-altering pulse of red. He stares at her lips like they’re the starting gun for reality. “Don’t cum,” she says, “until I tell you to.”

“Ooh.” He grins. “Kinky.”

She winks as she spreads his robe open. “You haven’t seen a thing yet.” She reaches under his pillow and roots around briefly. She tugs a cherry-red pump bottle out.

Grant eyes the semi-translucent fluid within. “What’s that?”

“This is sabsum oil.” She drizzles it into her palm. That clean, crisp scent, sweeter at this concentration. Like lemon cake, almost. “What’s your favorite part of my body, Grant? I asked this back when we were enemies.” Her eyes flash. “Now you have to answer.”

Easy. “Your thighs.”

“My thighs?” She beams. “Fascinating. I was sure you were going to say my ass.” She scoots forward. Her plump, downy thighs open and cradle his waist. “I like my thighs, too. I like the way you look at them.”

He watches them spread as she lets her weight onto them. “They’re fucking glorious, Sykora.”

She suspends the bottle over them, and lets a silvery pump fall from it, to drip down her lap. “How about this, then?” She takes his hands in hers and slides them across her blue skin. It glistens with oil. Her eyes flash. “Massage them. Do it good enough and I’ll give you a reward.”

He laughs. “Okay.”

He digs his palms into her cushion, curving his knuckles to sink his fingers down to the military muscle beneath it. She sighs as he works.

His fingertips follow the organic span of her quadriceps up, and trace the lines her inner tendons form. They come so close to the puffy indigo lips of her vulva that he feels the heat radiating from her like the summer sun.

Her hand slips between her legs and slaps his lightly away. “Hey, down there. You don’t have permission for that just yet.” She crosses her legs coquettishly. “That was a lovely rubdown, dove. Do you have training?”

He shakes his head. “Just enthusiasm.”

“Well, you’ve earned that reward.” She scoots backward and uncrosses her legs. They shine in the candlelight, strong and soft. “Fuck them.”

His mouth dries. “Fuck…?”

“Like this.” Her hand slides underneath his cock and raises it vertical. He hisses air out as her oil-slick thighs press together around it, smushing it in place. Flash. “Fuck my thighs, lover.”

The invisible Sykoras turn eager and frisky as they slap Grant’s hands onto either side of his wife’s legs, pressing those beautiful thick pillows even tighter around his shaft. His knees raise to give him leverage. He thrusts experimentally, and his throat tightens as he glides on her slippery skin. His core tenses and drops lower into his body as he slides through the velvety tunnel she’s made for him.

“Just like that,” she purrs. “Good boy.”

She squirms closer, so that his cock is nestled in the y-shape at the crown of her thighs. Her shaped pubes brush against him. Her pussy’s wet arousal adds to the lubrication he’s moving on. He’s picking up speed—a lush liquid plap accompanies every thrust now. Her thighs jiggle with his impact.

“Ah-ah. Not so fast, boy. Slooow.” Flash. “Don’t torture yourself. You’re not cumming until I say it, remember?”

“Fuck,” he rasps. “I can’t, can I?”

She hums. “That’s right. Try as you might. Your body won’t let you, while I’ve got the keys.” Her foot tickles his chin. “So go slow. Feel me.”

He does his best. He lets the compulsion-Sykoras hold him back and decelerate his movements.

“It’s so hot,” she coos. “Most of you is nice and cool. But you’re burning down here.”

“That—” He licks his dry lips. “That’s your fault, y’know.”

She tsks. “I’m being a little evil prick, I know.” She leans forward, so that the head of his cock, at the apex of its thrust, slips up through the triangle gap in her squished-together thighs and nuzzles against her navel. “But trust me, okay? Trust how it’ll feel. When I tell you to let it alllll out.”

“You are evil,” he says.

She grins wickedly as his strained cock twitches. “I think this wants to be inside me, Grantyde.”

He manages to nod.

“I’ll give you what you want. But you’re gonna have to keep earning it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Flash. “Stay still, now. Move nothing from the neck down.”

The invisible Sykoras tighten their hold. He swears to the Gods of the Firmament he can feel their breath tingling on his skin as they pin his limbs to his sides.

“Lift your head a little for me, dove.” Sykora slips a pillow under his neck. Her lubricated thighs cradle his skull. She gazes down at him like a benevolent deity. “I’m taking this handsome face for a ride.”

Her hips tilt back, then grind forward across his lips.

Heaven. He died on Ptolek II. This is what Heaven is like.

“Ooooh, God, Grant.” A dizzy sigh pushes from her heaving chest. “You were built for this.”

The Sykoras he’s buried in giggle in chorus with his laugh.

She peers between her legs. “What does lonesome sound like from there?”

“Gmfsm.”

She lets out another squeaking ooh and squirms atop him. “That’ll work.”

She lets more of her weight onto him. The globes of her ass pillow against his collarbone. She swivels and moans as her lithe hips explore him—his chin, his scruff, his lips. Her clit nudges against the bone of his nose and her whole body jerks. “Grant,” she moans. “My beautiful boy. You always make me feel so fucking good.”

He hums. She moans.

A fluffy brush along his cock. Her tail, he realizes. That’s the tuft of her tail. It slithers lower and is joined by the sure, supple length of the tail’s fleshy part. It coils around him like a serpent. The miracle unfurls with such staggering wonder that it stops his breath.

Three months ago, he’d spend his nights swallowing sawdust-flavored caffeine pills to keep awake while he refreshed his buggy laptop, looking for jobs for a college dropout.

Tonight, his shortstack alien wife is whimpering atop his face and jerking him off with her tail.

He tastes the cushiony folds that grind and gyrate against his stubble. He smells her, the primal musky femininity pushing fearlessly through the clean-linen scent as she gets wetter and wetter. He sticks his tongue as far as it will go, coating it in her arousal. His reward is an adorably squeaky moan and a pair of little blue hands scratching along his scalp.

Her shiver smushes her further onto him. Her spine arches. Her breasts sway. A rippling pulse in the carved musculature of her core. He huffs triumphantly. The Princess is losing control.

And suddenly her weight, her taste, her scent, they’re all off of him, replaced by the chilly air of the cabin. He twitches with the sudden deprivation. “Sykora,” he says. “You’re gonna drive me fucking crazy.”

“It’s only fair.” She slithers back down his chest. The pool of lube eases her passage. “If you don’t get to cum yet, I don’t either.”

“I want you to,” he says.

“I will,” she says. “But not like that.”

She anchors her feet on either side of his waist. She rubs her face against his chest hair as her hips hitch upward. She positions him at her blushing, sweat-shiny entrance.

“I’m going to cum on my husband’s big Maekyonite cock,” she says, and slams her hips downward. Her throbbing guts swallow him whole.

An overheated moment of gasping paralysis clutches both of them. Then Sykora whispers “yesss,” and her stomach hardens into that shining six pack, and she starts to move.

“I fucking love your body, Grant. I love it.” Her hips swirl and dance as she rises up his length. She plunges back down. Their oiled bodies make a wet clap sound as they connect. “I love all this hair you have. I love your size and your skin and your smell.” She lays her face on his chest as she teases his cock back out to her hugging lips. Nearly all the way out and then clap. He’s vacuum-sealed in her trembling flesh again. “And you’re so handsome. You’re the most handsome man in the firmament.” Up. Swirl. Clap. She’s getting faster. Her slick, pillowy body drifts on his. “And when I first saw you…” Up. Swirl. Clap. “All I could think about doing was this.” She doesn’t let all of him out this time. She rocks on him. “All I wanted was to see you like this.”

His hands sink into the bed. He wants to touch her so badly.

“To see my husband’s pretty face get so red.” She’s pumping now with a determined cadence. “To see your lips open with the feeling of me. To touch you. To keep you forever. To make you love me.” Her voice is pinching upward. She’s getting unsteady again. Her eyes flash. “Do you love me?”

“I love you so fucking much,” he rasps. His teeth are grinding together. That glorious, glorious warmth. It laps against his brain as her body flattens against his.

Flash. “Do you love me?”

Another wave of bliss. “I love you.”

She’s losing her breath. Her eyes flare and sputter. “Again.”

“I love you.” And Grant realizes that these rhythmic compulsions are for him, not for her. She’s timing them with every spearing stroke. It’s like she’s fucking his mind, like his entire self is pumping in and out of her. Like he’s going deeper than the limits of his skeleton and his meat allow. Like he’s melding into one consciousness with her.

Flash. “Again,” she gasps.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

His knuckles are white. “I fucking love you.”

Her rhythm falters. Her walls thicken and throb. Her alto voice cracks into a high feminine cry. Her hips lose their dancerly control, gracelessly shoving and bucking like she’s trying to fill every inch of herself with him. The tendons in her thighs flutter and then lock. A warm silvery gush spreads across Grant’s heaving stomach as his wife’s cunt drools on him.

She flops backward. His cock springs out of her. She lies across his shins and shakes like a landed fish for a few breaths. He watches his stretched-open wife tighten again. He watches her stomach rise and fall. She’s fever hot. You could fry an egg on the griddle of her stomach.

She sits up. Her silky hair is matted to her sweaty forehead. Her horns are still engorged and pointed. “Your turn.”

Her thighs lock around his length again. Her eyes flash. “Touch me.”

He sits up and yanks her into his lap. His burning cock nestles back into the soft fat of her thighs, disappearing and reappearing as those plush blue legs flex and work, slippery and lithe on the oil and the fluids of their lovemaking. Her hand reaches down. Her fingers caress and tease every time his flushed head emerges from between her legs. Her quads stand out as she squeezes him. “Please, baby,” he pants. “Please.”

She giggles. “Soon, dove. But not yet. I’m not done with you yet.”

His hands clutch the shiny blue globes of her ass. He feels the warrior-woman strength under the giving squish, expanding and contracting as her thighs compress around his twitching cock.

“Poor beautiful boy.” Her voice is syrup drizzling across him. “You’re so fucking beautiful, husband. You’re beautiful. And strong.”

The delicate pad of her finger draws little circles over his heart.

“It took such strength for you to do the things you’ve done, Grant Hyde. To rescue me. To leave your home, to make me free you, to save Wenzai’s life, to save my life. And I love your strength.”

She kisses his jaw. His legs are going numb. His entire consciousness is narrowing to the red-eyed angel in his lap, as she fucks him with her thighs and whispers lovingly into his ear.

“But I love your weakness, too. I love you helpless. I love all of you. You can lie down and cry. I’ll lie down with you. You can fall to pieces. I’ll pick them up. You carry all this purpose. I see it on you. On your brow and your shoulders. You can lay it on me sometimes. You can let your wife take care of you, the way you take care of her. You don’t have to rush. You can take your rest on me.” She breathes a laugh. “I’ll be your pillow princess.”

He buries his face in her chest as another dry pulse racks him. The cool, stinging air of the cabin. The slippery velvet heat of his wife’s legs. She coos and rubs the hair on the back of his neck.

“You’re being so good for me, dove. So good.” She nuzzles him. “A few more seconds. A little longer. Okay? And then you get to cum all over me.” She caresses the seam under his shaft. “You get to coat me in it.”

Should he say it? It’s dangling there. The ripcord. Lonesome. He bites his knuckle instead. He’s racked with another whole-body shake. He can barely get enough air in his lungs to say her name, “Sykora,” strained and pleading.

“Ten seconds. Nine.” Her ass is rising out of his lap now with every pump of her thick thighs. The sticky suck of her skin smushing down and rising up again.

“I can’t,” he gasps. He’s going to fucking explode.

“Siiiiix…” Sykora stretches her syllable into a long, smoky drawl. “Ffffiiiiive…”

“Come onnn,” he growls.

Her twinkling laugh. “These are nautical seconds.”

His brain is swimming. His eyes flutter shut.

“Grant. Husband.” Her fingers raise his chin. “Look at me.”

He opens his eyes. She’s cradling his aching cock against her stomach as it expands with her breath, a little blue fertility goddess, her face full of raw, primordial desire.

Another flash.

“Cum,” she says.

The firmament splits in half. He makes a noise he didn’t imagine his vocal cords capable of and erupts, with a thrust so violent it boosts his tiny wife into the air. Sykora yelps as he bursts across her blue skin, shiny and hot on her stomach, glazing the peaks of her breasts, throbbing in the valley between her thighs, and before his next pulse can coat her further, she’s slid out of his lap and slammed her face onto his cock, encasing it in her throat, and he isn’t a screamer but he fucking screams. His hips arch and his cock jumps and wave after wave of desperate release crashes into him, racking him, and with each one another molten eruption spurts into Batty’s mouth as she clings to him, drinks from him like she needs it for survival, like it's the only thing she's tasted in weeks. Her sweat-shiny neck swallows, and then she hums a determined hum and pushes and her lips kiss against the root of his cock, and he’s lodged all the way into her throat, emptying himself down it. Her tongue is kneading his balls and she makes a pleading, glottal ghnk noise that squirms across his shaft and he clings to her horns as he rides out the convulsions, and there are tears in his eyes, she’s making him feel so fucking good. It’s not fucking stopping. He’s still cumming. He’ll overthrow the Empire in Sykora’s name. He’ll install her at the top. He’ll make the whole firmament worship this woman like she deserves.

He deflates. He knows a kinship with those bee drones who orgasm so hard into the colony queen they die.

She rises from him, coated in his seed, and opens wide, sticking her tongue out with evident smugness. She shows him the cum glistening on it. She closes her lips and swallows one last time. She beams down at him and kisses the still-stiff head of his cock. “Good boy.”

Grant nearly faints.

His wife curls catlike between his legs and licks his stomach, where some of his climax splashed back onto him, making another little throaty noise like she can’t get enough of his taste. The heat radiating off her is the first sun of summer warming his skin.

Her exfoliating tongue retracts from his belly. She delicately plucks a dark hair from her mouth. “You know something, dove?”

He lifts his ringing head. “What?”

“It took an experimental blacksite interrogation drug,” Sykora says. “But I finally got you to cum in my mouth.”

He vents the scant air he’s recouped into a ragged laugh.

“It’s tasty.” She laps his bellybutton. “This is making me want kavak.”

“Should we ask Kymai for some?”

Sykora giggles. “I’m not going to make you eat something that tastes like your jizz, darling.”

“That was fucking transcendent,” he says. “We can never do it again or I’m going to become a strung-out addict.”

“Now you’re making me want to try.”

“Sykora.” He puts a hand on her shoulder and stills her. “I really don’t think you should. This stuff is fucking dangerous.”

“I know. I know.” She kisses his wrist. “It was a silly joke. We’re through with it from now on, I swear. It was nice to try once, though. To finally know.” Her thumbs knead the skin on his stomach. “Was it good?”

“It was astounding,” he says. “It was amazing. But you’re in huge trouble next time I’m in charge, for the shit you put me through.”

She snickers. “I’m counting on it.”

“What about you?”

“Did I or did I not squirt on you, dove?”

“Fair enough.”

“Although I did think—I don’t know.” She tilts her head pensively. “I thought I’d be more satisfied, finally using all that training and controlling you like I’m supposed to. And it was good. Of course it was. But I think now that I’ve experienced it both ways…” She sighs heavily. “I think I’m a sub, Grantyde.”

“Oh,” he says. “How about that.”

“Don’t be insufferable.” Her tail thwaps him on the pec. “Has it worn off?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Compel me.”

“Pick your nose.”

A playful little compulsive nudge and his finger’s in his nostril.

“Gross,” she says, delighted.

“Okay.” He removes his finger. “Maybe we’re done.”

“Can I do one more?”

“One more.”

She holds her hands out. Her eyes flash. “Pick me up and carry me to the tub.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” He scoops her off the bed. “Dude. You’re dripping on me.”

“I’m dripping you on you.”

“That makes it worse.”

She boops his chin. “This is exactly why I drew a bath.”

They settle into the warm whoosh of the tub. Sykora in Grant’s lap again. Her small body going pliant in his big hands. He suds her hair and she purrs like a cat, and they’re drifting back into the comfortable indulgence of their usual dynamic. His Batty is his again.

But there’s something…

He clears his throat. “Will you do one more compulsion for me? If it’s possible?”

She tilts her head back and looks up his nose at him. “What’s that?”

“Can you compel the memory of killing Thror out of my head?” Grant eases back. “The way he just—dropped. Can you take that out?”

“Oh, love.” She sighs. “I wish I could. But it only works on fresh memories. You’re already baked in up there.”

“Right.” He tries to relax his jaw. “I figured. Just thought I’d ask.”

“When you remember it, I want you to remember me, okay?” She sloshes a turn so that they’re face to face. “And how you saved my life. And how indebted to you I am. And how deeply I love you for all the ways you have changed for me. And changed me.”

He tugs her against him. “I will.”

They let the water gently buffet them in comfortable silence.

“Are you happy?” Sykora murmurs.

He rests his chin on her head. “Of course I am.”

“I hope you are. I thought I finally had you all the way there. And now I know you’re still hungry for something, and now I worry again. I want you happy.”

He tips further back. “I’m crazy happy. But you married a Maekyonite, and apparently we’re rebels. And we’re always hungry for something. That’s just how we are.”

“That’s how Taiikari are, too,” she says. “But I’m trying, anyway.”

“Well, it’s a hole in your happiness also, the no-kids thing,” he says. “I’m not about to allow that.”

“It’s a bit terrifying that I genuinely believe you’ll figure out a way. You’re so good at annoying Taiikari noblewomen.”

“Steve Jobs said the only way to do great work is to love what you do.”

“Who’s Steevjobs?”

“A dead Maekyonite. Invented that communicator you stole from me.”

“Ahhh.” She turns back around so they’re front-to-back again. “It was a very fancy communicator.”

“It was. But I don’t miss it.” He buckles his hands across her stomach. “I don’t miss much at all from Maekyon, to be honest. I’ve got my guitar and my books. That’s all I really needed to live.”

“Well, if you think of something, tell me,” she says. “And I’ll steal it.”

“I will. Promise.” He kisses the little lump where her horns grow out. “But the things I want, they aren’t there anymore.” He looks out at the glowing firmament. “They’re out there. Out there and in here.”

Her hands find his where they lay across her stomach.

They rest their sex-sore bodies and listen to the low musical pulse, the bubbling water.

“Someday,” she whispers.

He lowers his head to hear her better.

“Someday,” she repeats. “Not soon. But someday. It won’t all wash off. Someday it’ll stay in me. And I’ll keep it warm and safe while it grows.” The sweet warmth of the bath swims in their heads. The humidity beads on his wife’s sky-pale skin. “A little bit of you. A little bit of me. Someday. Something new.”

His heart beats against her spine. Its elegant span reminds him of the Pike. Graceful and indestructible.

She wraps his arms further around her. Her jewel-tone eyes drift shut. “Someday I’m going to have our babies.”

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