A literotic sexstories: Draconian Law, Part 1 by PenOnFire ,
This story is a little more like my usual writing, but with the mature themes mixed in. I hope you enjoy.
Darian blinked nearly in unison with her. The cave was cruelly cold, but at a time like this, he hardly noticed. Even the dagger points of the cragged wall he gripped with one hand did not seem to pierce his palm. Or else, his nerves had abruptly died and his mind refused to recognize all the blood coursing down his forearm like a river of black.
The west wind was whistling at his back. His impossibly tall frame filled the uneven doorway, cast a menacing jagged silhouette on the slick stone floor awash with seawater. Just outside his keen ears could make out the crash of vengeful waves throwing themselves at the obsidian cliffs along the shore until nealry several miles away; and his pulsing irises, a stunning tandem of vermillion and gold, scanned through the weakly lit scene with the ease of a feline.
His eyes inevitably strayed back to the statuesque figure lying at an odd angle upon the stone table. It resembled a bier more than a table, for it was crafted of a solid marble streaked through with veins of silver and rose and ebony. Each side was left uncut, save the carefully polished top on which she lay.
Darian risked a step forward, then another, then a third. He cocked his head to one side as her face came into full view. The lips, slightly parted, were damaged from blows and still bore the blacked stain of blood at the corners; her eyes, closed as they were with full and shadowed lids, were ringed with bruises beneath. The smudge he had first glimpsed besmirching her cheek originated from a fresh laceration slanting toward her chin. But though this was the first damaged offering he had ever received, he found that none of this detracted from her beauty.
Rather, it made him shudder in anticipation for her.
He flicked his eyes toward her wrists, which were cuffed and chained to the upper corners of the marble bier. Her slim and bare ankles were bound in a similar fashion. Now that he cast a thought toward the matter, Darian realized it was the only part of the picture that bore no peace, and no beauty but a perverted one. He had to avert his eyes.
At his side, his fist clenched, setting off the terrible cadence of the clinking scales on his armor. Each tinkle became amplified into a whispered shout across the sea cave.
Her rent gown of forest green velvet fluttered in his peripheral vision, then rustled. She was moving. Still he stood with his back slightly to her, his eyes shut securely, relying only on his hearing to see her slowly awaken.
Her first deep breath was ragged and jagged. It was followed by a gasp of realization, of desperation – she had seen the cave and the chains.
“Where am I?” she croaked.
Darian was not sure what his body was attempting to do, but he found his head was shaking.
Her voice cracked the second she spoke. “Please…who are you? Why am I here? What are you going to do to me?”
It was the same questions. Always the same questions.
Yet even in her parched tones, it was clear to him that her voice was oddly girlish and old at the same time – and it spoke of a tempting strength coursing through her veins. His bare shoulders shook once in an invisible shudder.
“I am Darian Draconis,” he said in a surprisingly even tone. Even warm. “As for your other questions, my lady, I am afraid they will have to go unanswered. All you really need to know is that you are no longer in…control.”
He swiveled now on his heel and approached the laden bier with measured steps. Yes, control. He was beginning to relish again how his footsteps rang crisply in even time in the misty air; and an even greater stab of victory struck him at the sight of her breast heaving with fear.
Her eyes were green – a shocking emerald green. One glimpse of them and his feet once more stilled.
“There is…” he began after a pause. “There is but one thing I would need to know. Before.”
Those mesmerizing eyes were locked on his. They were wide in anxiety, blazing like a witchlight, intense as a nightmare. “Before what?”
He ignored her. “What is your name?”
“No!” she cried out. “No. I won’t give you my name.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “And why not?”
She swallowed and said nothing. Their eyes flicked past each other and then locked together again, before she turned her head away, exposing the vein in her neck.
“Why not?” Darian repeated.
She shook her head in a dizzy motion.
“You know,” rejoined Darian rather conversationally, “have you ever considered it might be a tad easier for you if you simply accepted the fact that you have no control of the situation? That perhaps some small cooperation would turn you onto an immensely easier path? I am by no means about to proffer allowances to those who are defiant.”
A shudder passed ruthlessly again through his body, but the young woman seemed too thoroughly frightened to have noticed a thing; if she did, more likely than not she mistook it for rage. But the truth was that his skin was blistering on fire from the inside, and he was dying of the ache of his need – he had gone far too long without another sacrifice.
“Roxanna,” came her whisper.
A smile flickered across his face mingled with his suppressed pain. “Well then, Roxanna, how do you feel about your new abode?”
Roxanna blinked several times as if to clear away a haze of tears. She twisted against the clanking chains, to no avail. “Please. Send me home. I don’t want to die.”
“Who said you were going to die?”
A choking sob escaped her. “Isn’t that what you do to all the girls that are offered to you? You kill them and they never come back. The dust of their bones washes up on the shore centuries after they were murdered in your lair. And you – the dragon – you live on.”
Darian shot her a sardonic smile. “I must say, your detective skills are impressive. And, unfortunately, wrong. I have not killed any of those girls you speak of, not a single one.”
“Th-then – w-where are they?”
“Well, I never said they were alive, did I?”
The fear returned to her green eyes. Her ankles rattled against the steel cuffs frantically. “N-no…”
“Ah. I see. The little lady is confused. Shall we enlighten her?” He chuckled and clapped his hands together, sending a screech of metal scales across the echoing cave. “They all killed themselves.”
She stared at him for an interminable moment. Then he both heard and saw the deep breath she drew to scream – and in a flash he was upon her bodily, his mouth on hers.
Bound as she was, she thrashed violently under him against the passionate kiss. But he was unmovable, unbreakable, his hands like bands of steel gripping her neck in place and curving her head to meet his. Darian’s long, hot tongue then slid out over hers and behind her teeth, exploring and teasing the warmth of her soaking mouth. Roxanna was making urgent moans of protest and banging against his arms with her straining shoulders, all to no avail.
You will not die, he spoke into her mind.
Roxanna froze in absolute fright at the sound of his telepathic voice. Frantic thoughts were spilling graphically across her brain: How is he doing that? Why is he doing this to me? Why me? Oh gods, I want to GET OUT! HELP ME!
Roxanna, he said again. Calm yourself. If you do not, you will surely suffocate. Relax your body.
Please, she sobbed. Stop this right now.
At last he had to pull away to draw a deep breath of exasperation. “What must I tell you, you beautiful and dull human, to make you understand? I will do what I please with you and I have no intention of stopping. Therefore, you must have no intention of resisting any longer, if you retain high hopes of preserving your life.”
She swallowed once. And nodded.
Darian then bent down and began to strip. He had been wearing his usual black leather jerkin and leggings with bearskin boots; all those were swept off his sweat-glistened body and collected in an obscene pile on the cold stone floor. His tanned skin was coated with a sheen over his mighty muscles; he stood well over six feet, and the foot-long member now clearly in view frightened the young woman with its impossible girth and hardness. His gauntlets of dragon scales around his wrists stayed on – and for the first time, Roxanna noticed his nails were huge, opaque daggers black as obsidian. Claws.
A smile flickered across the breathtaking planes of his face as he returned his full attention to the girl. In one swift stroke he ripped her velvet gown from neck to hem clean into two. Her quivering, pale flesh, its surfaces unblemished save for a peculiar scar resembling a knife wound between her ribs, lay bare and glowing against the torchlight for his pleasure.
What he sought most was already exposed and ready. Her womanhood, seeming to throb in fear and anticipation, compelled him over the edge with its warm welcome. He stepped forward and pressed the head of his member against her core to feel its hot fluid already readying her body for him. He knew from experience that it was more from fear than arousal that his women grew moist; but it mattered not.
The girl could not seem to tear her eyes away from the morbid sight of his head pressuring her warm opening. He was pulsing already, stiff and ready, his tip a dark raging crimson.
Roxanna’s voice tried one more time. “Please…don’t rape me…I beg you. Please! Don’t do this! I – I am a virgin!”
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