The Song of Roland Ch. 06-07

Her eyes, her eyes were the most damning sight: blood red with pinprick irises that regarded him the same way a hunter sees its potential meal. There was no recognition in her gorgeous face, no shared smiles or teasing looks like before. This was pure, unadulterated fornication of the highest order. As inhuman and detached in its bareback lust as anything Roland had ever experienced. It was both enrapturing and overwhelming all at once. She grinned at him - no... she sneered at him, her movements implying closeness and connection, but her actions and distinctly inhuman body language seeming more an assertion of domination than sexuality. She was taking him. Hard. It was a miracle he'd lasted as long as he had. Roland prayed to the Gods that she was almost finished. His eyes fluttered shut as he continued to feel her pounding weight, his prostate tightening as he ejaculated again against the creature who'd been until now his companion, but who was now his jailer. He passed out, the wound causing his sheer blood loss to finally inibate him to the point of convalescence. Even in his sleep he could feel her: an eternal press against his navel.

Roland awoke the next morning to the feeling of something against his injured leg. His eyes peeked open, pain shooting up his aching body as he felt the full weight of his actions, trials and mistakes the previous night return to torment him. Light flooded in, the burning light of the sun directly in his eyes as he tried to squint through it, his tired vision filled with pain as he gazed, red-eyed and uncomprehending at the world all around.

He moaned, feeling the dryness of his throat and the cracked, moisture-deprived skin of his lips. He licked across them, feeling no relief from his equally arid tongue. The Gods had not favoured him... though he supposed at this point it was to be expected. He was propped against the tree he'd been ravaged against, his back straight against it as his hands hung limply to either side, trailing the ground. He sat in a bed of leaves and grit, entirely naked and utterly spent. He felt weak, far weaker than the mere physical exertion would have warranted; the blood loss had been worse than he'd feared. The feeling was at his leg again, and he turned his head to see it.

It was Kelsea, naked as he was, calmly licking across the now-dried wound. She did not look up at him, demurely slathering her saliva across his limb and working the wound away, healing - in her own fashion - the inflicted injuries. Roland said nothing for several minutes, merely watching her as she moved, the way her hands trailed his thighs, her body swaying in the morning sunlight. He doubted he had the strength to stop her even if he wanted to. At last as she finished her labors, the Demonness sat up, wiping at her face and making eye contact with him.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, as though some malady had afflicted them. She did not look nor act like she was in the mating haze though - he supposed she had at some point in the endless rounds of coupling finally broken it against his sore and throbbing groin. She said nothing, merely lifting a leather skin to his lips and pouring some of its watery contents down his gullet. Roland gratefully accepted the bounty, gulping the liquid like a healing salve to his insides. Upon reaching a particularly voluminous swallow he spluttered and coughed, unable to properly ingest the stream of liquid. Insistent but patient, she held it against his lips, making sure he had drank his fill before corking it and setting it aside.

Her hands moved across his skin, tracing the bite marks and discoloration across his face, chest and shoulders left by her own mad frenzy. She almost moved to repair the damage, but hesitated. "Runnin' low on fluids again?" Roland croaked, chuckling before breaking down into a coughing fit. It pained him to feel how empty of energy he was, all he wanted to do was sleep some more. Kelsea purposefully pulled her hands away, standing up and turning away from the mercenary. Collecting some of the extra bundles of wood strewn about the ruined campsite, she rebuilt their small cooking fire. With Roland's flint and steel she smacked against the twigs, breathing fire to life as she blew into the flames.

Roland watched her, his eyes enchanted by the purple curve of her back, the shapely bend of her rear as she squatted, the teasing glory of her nethers just barely displayed beyond her behind. Her tail moved like a panther's through the brush: slow, modest and sedated. Even after last night, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Moving with reserved steps, she picked her way across the battlefield, the corpses of several slain Imps littered the campsite. She picked up his tattered bedroll, laying it down perpendicular to the fire. She took a leather blanket from Roland's pack, setting it folded down onto one end of the bedroll before moving back to where he was. Roland watched the delta of her navel as she walked, his eyes tracing across the skin of her labia and the button that sat atop it like a crowned pearl; she had well and truly mesmerized him. The Succubus took him by the arm, pulling him to his feet and draping the limb around her shoulder, creating a makeshift cane from her body as she hefted the naked, shivering man to the fire, allowing his weight to drop atop the bedroll. Once she was sure he was sitting comfortably, she took the blanket and draped it across him. She moved to take a seat across the fire from him but his hand reached up to weakly grip her wrist. A moment's eye connection between them convinced her to instead plop her bum down next to him on the open space of the bedroll.

"You should sleep." She said. "My fat ass on the bedroll isn't going to help you get your strength back."

Roland smiled, staring into the flames. "No, but your 'fat ass' is certainly livelier company than most." She let out a derisive expulsion of breath.

"Too lively." She said, as if the words were explanation enough of what had happened. "Too lively by half." She curled her legs to her body, adopting a sitting fetal position as she put her head against her knees. She didn't say anything for a moment, rocking back and forth with her tail as the hinge to sway against. "I was... I was born in the magelands; in Arjal, years ago. My mother was a whore in the redlight district."

"What are telling me this for-" Roland began but the Succubus cut him off.

"Just let me say this, please? I- I grew up, in my mother's brothel. She bought it once she became rich enough from the business, opened her own little den. I got my own room in the back, toys and everything." She smiled at the memory. "I remember being so smitten by the gaudy outfits, the frilly dresses and the fake accents the women adopted to give themselves exotic personas." She shook her head between her legs, her body drooping. "As I got older she told me about work and men and pleasing them. Said one day I'd be just like her, a streetwalker and a slut for hire." She lifted her head, her eyes lidded low as she stared dully into the flames. "Last night was the first time I ever truly felt like a whore."

The Succubus' wiped at her eyes with the back of her bare arm. Even from this distance Roland could feel her body heat, radiating its unnatural waves across him. "I left Arjal, struck out on my own when I hit my fourteenth nameday. I thought: 'I'll be different. I'll be a craftswoman, or a trader.'" She laughed, her cackle on the verge of hysteria. "Turns out I just traded one type of brothel for another. I worked at a few of the towns along the road, odd jobs and nanny duties. Ended up staying at the castle in Turnheim for three years as a washerwoman." She held up her perfect, manicured fingernails, inspecting them in the sunlight. "That was a wash... literally. Left it after the local lord's secondborn started getting too handsy."

"You?" Roland said, "Reject sex?"

Kelsea laughed, "Doesn't sound like me at all, does it? Believe it or not I was still a maiden, doe-eyed and dreaming of romance. I knew what men wanted, but I knew that some of 'em weren't all about my knickers. I left in the night, to avoid pursuit from the little lordling. Got captured by an Incubus, less than a day's journey south. He'd already 'established' himself in the woods; had his own little community of imps and demons serving him. Idiot that I was, all alone with no weapons, I was easy prey. Grevich was his name."

Her mouth pressed into a line. "He broke me. Made me his cocksleeve. Made me do everything you can think of, and more besides. By the end of my humanity, I was begging him to do it. We stayed like that for a year or two, I don't know the exact time, seeing as he rarely let me see daylight. Once he had had his fun, he cut me loose. Like unwanted baggage. Said he only took 'pure, pretentious' bitches." She glanced over to Roland, her eyes matching his, "That day you found me, I'd been free from him for less than a month. When you said I should head to the towns to find my prey, I didn't even know any better. My only point of reference was Grevich and his horde of rapists in the woods. I knew to cast spells only because he forced me to, to taunt me with my old appearance and my helplessness. The thought that I could mix with society again was as alien as the rest of me."

Her shoulders sagged. "I want to fuck. All the time. I want to make love and mate and breed and lick and kiss and do all those things that my... that my kind does. To be honest, I don't even care how others feel, or what they're getting from it." She sat in silence, her face a mask of emptiness. Her hands, the tiny things, opened and closed as though she didn't know what to do with them. "We don't get to choose who we are, Roland. You, me, anyone. You're a hired killer, but you let me live. You could have cut my head off and taken all the gold I had and more afterwards from the villagers, but instead you asked me for my name." She didn't look at him. "Why?"

Roland tugged at his blanket, pulling one side off of his left shoulder and draping it across Kelsea's left, creating a makeshift tent of fabric between them. Had a passerby seen the two, they'd have almost looked like sweethearts huddled under the covers for warmth. "You talk too much, yeah?" He murmured, scootching closer so they could both enjoy the blanket's full encompassment. Beneath the sheeting, he could feel her body burning like a furnace. She choked out a laugh.

"That's not the answer I was looking for."

"And what were you hoping for?" He replied, his hand reaching behind her back to pull her tight against him. Despite herself, the Succubus leaned her head against his shoulder. "You're lucky we're still alive after last night. Those Imp claws can cut you to the bone. Strong as an ox too, the little bastards."

"Thank you..." She whispered, her mouth against his scarred collarbone. "They almost-"

"They didn't." Roland said, glancing over at the splayed out corpse of the grey Bird-Imp near the tree trunk. "But you've got a few things to learn about swordfighting, I'm buying you a blade the next town we get to. You swing like a blind fishmonger trying to crack a flopping fish's head against a pier. Corrupted creatures are immune to balefire, don't even bother. You've got a better chance of arguing with them than harming them with demonic magic."

"I'll remember." She promised. She sounded truly sincere.

"I don't doubt it." Roland said, kissing the top of her head and messing up her hair. He let out a groan, "Fuck me, I feel like I got hit headbutted by a Minotaur."

"What happened to me?" She said. "I've never... no, I have felt like that, but it was back when Grevich was using me like his personal sockpuppet for his big, meaty dick. Why did I lose control?"

"It's called a 'mating haze.'" Roland said, putting a hand over his eyes. He was still weak from the blood loss. "Succubi and Incubi get it, usually when they're around others of their kind. It's like a safety valve to make sure ya can 'procreate' so to speak, even with someone you might hate or despise." He let out a rough chuckle, "It so you breed like bunnies. Since most of your kind are murderous rivals to each other, you'd sooner stick a blade in 'em than fuck their brains out. This way you can do both. Imps can use it against you, turn your own chemistry against ya. When they do it, they're looking to make a broodmother."

"What if you hadn't-" She began.

"I think you know what the outcome would have been had I been slain." He said, moving quickly to stop her train of thought. Truth be told, he did not wish to dwell on it. An Imp Broodmother was not an enviable fate for anyone, least of all a creature hand-crafted for their impregnating pleasure. The Demonness trembled, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his chest.

"Gods thank you, Roland." She said, holding him tight. Even after his suffering at her hands the night before, he felt a small rise in his overused nob as she pressed her chest tight against him, her breasts seeming still larger than the night before. She was starting to become a truly buxom specimen of her species. Just as well, she was turning his cock into a monster, too. He put a hand atop her head, feeling with gently trailing fingers the smoothness of her hair, the peculiar curve of her horns atop her head, and the unbearable heat that latched itself to him like he was the only thing in the world.

"No thank yous." He replied, "You'll make me blush. What say we settle for a kiss, yeah?"

She giggled, leaning up and frenching him deeply. No teeth, only the wonderful pressure of her lips. "I'll take that deal," She whispered, letting out a low gasp as she felt one of his fingers blithely slide into her tight vagina. "But tomorrow when you've rested you're getting more than a kiss, 'yeah?'" She mocked his common saying, and he didn't even slap her for it; they were making progress.