Fire in the Cave (9 page)

A few minutes before, she had been bathing alone in the river. And
now a man or spirit had simply taken her, simply picked her up and
started touching and tasting her, laid her down and started
satisfying himself with her body, sending quivering feelings up her
spine. Her face was hot with embarrassment. She could barely
believe she was just letting it happen, letting him do anything he
wanted to her. But then, she wasn’t sure she could make him
stop even if she wanted to.

She was breathing hard, sweat beginning to mingle with the drops of
river water on her skin. She raised her head, blinking, looking down
to see what he was doing to her. She was on the mossy bank, and he
was in the river, everything below his waist hidden by the swirling
current as he bent over her. His broad, tanned shoulders sparkled
with water drops in the sunlight as he bent to kiss and taste her.
His face was shrouded by his long, dark hair, but she saw him look up
at her, dark eyes shining with hunger.

His eyebrows lowered, frowning. She felt his teeth on her, biting,
punishing. She gasped, back arching, eyes squeezing closed again.
Not safe to stare at spirits. His mouth was on her, his tongue was
slipping inside, she was pressing her hands to her face and trying
not to wail as he licked inside her, rolled his tongue around her
entrance, slipped in again, deeper. But then he pulled away.

His arms released her legs. She couldn’t feel his touch any
more, anywhere. She kept her eyes squeezed closed, hoping, hoping
the spirit wouldn’t just leave her here, naked and
half-ravished by the river. She felt herself blushing, as she
realized how much she wanted and needed to feel that way, be touched
that way, just a little longer. Biting her lip, she held her breath,
listening, trying to sense his presence.

He was above her, inches away, his body over hers. She felt the cool
of his shadow, blocking the sun, heard the soft sound of the moss
pressed under his hands to either side of her. And then the warmth
of his skin on her thighs, parting them wide, and she bit her lip as
something hard, and warm, and smooth touched her wet, ready entrance
and began to push into her.

And in, and in. She was holding her breath as he filled her, digging
her fingers into the ground, stretching around him as he moved in
deeper. He was slow, slow, and she could feel her body opening to
him, stretching and changing to fit him, to shape around his thick,
deep shaft. Just as she was beginning to see stars, just as the
fullness was beginning to hurt, he stopped moving. She panted, eyes
squeezed closed, hands reaching up to touch his chest. He was in her
and above her, motionless, breath slow and deep, the smell of him a
mix of river and earth and maleness. She felt her body relaxing, the
shivery tension going out of her legs, her hands releasing their
fistfuls of moss. She could take it, just barely: the core of heat
in her center, his shaft, inside her.

Just as she relaxed, just as her breathing began to slow, he dropped
onto her. His chest was on hers, his weight pressing her down into
the earth, his mouth was on hers in a savage, primal kiss, growling
as he took her. His arms were beneath her, hands on her shoulders,
holding her body in place as he began to move in her, mating with
her. He was pulling her down onto himself with each stroke, pulling
her to him as he moved into her. Every time he moved in, he filled
her almost too full to bear, and every time he pulled back, she only
wanted the fullness again.

His body was warm and strong above her, pressing against her,
pressing her down, as he moved in her. She was seeing things, eyes
closed, seeing rushing water, pounding waves. She was glowing, she
felt like she was glowing inside with heat and pleasure as he kissed
her neck and pulled her onto him again and again. He was filling
her, filling her, faster and faster, he was a stranger or a god and
she didn’t know his name and he had just picked her up and
spread her wide and was taking her, fucking her, using and blessing
and mating with her. She was screaming as she came around him, her
own waters rushing out around his cock as he fucked her. He was
still moving in her, his lips on her neck and his hips slamming into
hers, not letting her down from the peak of her wave, forcing her to
ride it on and on and on until it broke over her and she lost
herself.

She gasped, a long, shuddering breath. Her eyes fluttered open. She
had lost some time, not much. He was crouched over her, shaft still
standing hard. A little shiver ran through her, seeing the size of
the thing that had been in her. She reached down, tentatively, to
feel her cunt. It was warm, aching pleasantly, dripping down onto
the moss.

“You can flow,” he said, watching her. His accent was
strange, his voice sad. “I cannot. There is a curse upon me.
You will help me.” He had something in his hand. A water
weed. He was crushing it between his fingers, staining them dark
green. “I mark you. You go to your village. You offer
yourself to the people. You help them flow. As many as you can, as
many as want to use you, you give yourself to. Do this, and I shall
grant a blessing.”

His hand loomed large in her vision, reaching toward her face,
shining green. She closed her eyes, thrilled, afraid, breathing fast
between parted lips. She felt his touch on her forehead, three
fingers, drawing waving lines, drawing flowing water. A touch on one
cheek, then the other, drawing lines from her eyes downward. Then
warmth on her lips. Heat, a kiss, her tongue touching his. He
tasted like water and strength.

He inhaled. She let him steal her breath, eagerly offering it to him
as he drew it out of her, leaving her chest empty, her head dizzy,
needing air. Then he sighed his own breath into her. Air flowed
into her through their joined lips, filling her with him, with his
power, making her his vessel. As he drew away, she lay still,
savoring it, feeling her arms and legs tingle with the power he had
put in her. She felt it move in waves inside her. It washed slowly
from her lips down to her tenderness and back, rippling through her
stomach. The sun was warm on her skin. The breath was warm inside
her. The sound of the river, of falling and flowing water, filled
the air.

She opened her eyes. He was gone.

She stood, bare feet sinking into the moss. The river was beautiful,
shining in the sun, the current flowing always towards its distant
goal. She smiled dreamily. She felt the same: beautiful,
purposeful. She was walking, she realized. Walking beside the
river, walking back to the village.

As she approached, she heard men’s voices. Laughing, shouting,
challenging each other, the clatter of staffs as they sparred. She
walked between huts, approaching the open area in the village center,
the space around the firepit where the men practiced their fighting.
Beside the fire was the altar to the spirits, piled high with
flowers.

Bronze-skinned, bare-chested warriors went silent as she stepped into
the open. Fighting pairs broke apart, staring at her; wrestling
matches broke up, opponents standing, looking at her curiously,
looking at her body. She smiled, full of warmth, full of purpose,
full of love for them. They were standing still, now, holding back,
but she knew that soon they would rush over her like a wave, taking
her.

Ten-hands, strongest of the warriors, stepped toward her.

“Four-leaf,” he said, “why are you bare before us?
Why are you painted?” He was tall, sharp-eyed, five dark bands
dyed on each arm. He was warm from his exercise, breathing deep.
She watched a single drop of sweat roll down from his throat, over
his broad chest, down the rippled muscles of his stomach.

If she spoke the words, they would take her. She felt a tremble in
her stomach, a hesitation; she was a shy girl, she stayed away from
the feasts and parties, she had never had so many men looking at her,
staring at her nakedness, at her little breasts and the dark patch of
hair between her legs. Why had the spirit chosen her? There were
other girls more suited to this, she wanted to run back to her hut
and hide, but she had been commanded. The command was in her, and it
was somehow more embarrassing to stop than to go on. She heard her
own voice speaking out.

“The river-god has marked me. I am his vessel. I must offer
myself to you, to all of you, to anyone who wants me, I must help you
flow to help him flow, to receive the blessing.” Her voice was
shaking, but the current inside her pushed her on. Her mind was
floating on a warm river. She fell to her knees, held out her hands,
begging. “Please. Please let me help you flow.”

The men were drawing close around her, muttering to each other. She
heard uncertainty, eagerness. Hunger and disbelief. She closed her
eyes, hands still raised before her as she kneeled.

“I don’t care,” she heard. “If she’s
offering, I’m taking.” She felt something press into her
hands. Warm leather. He had stepped forward until her hands were on
his loincloth, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin
leather, feeling the shape of him, growing hard. A blush rose in her
cheeks, heart hammering in her chest, but she couldn’t stop
now. Her hands slid under the leather, touching hot skin, closing
around his growing shaft. Hot in her hand, so hot, as she gently
squeezed, stroked. Eyes still closed, she tried not to imagine the
men watching, tried not to feel their gaze on her as she pleasured
their friend. She slid her fingers over the soft-furred round things
beneath the shaft, then pulled the leather aside. The shaft was
standing now, and she stroked it with one hand, steady, up and down.

She opened her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. The men
were close around her, grinning, eager, some slipping their hands
under leather to ready themselves as they watched her. She was
kneeling before a man, short-bearded, chest scarred, and she was
stroking his cock. It was inches from her face, and they were all
watching her, staring at her, wanting her. She was blushing,
panting. The bearded man put a hand on her head, tilted it back to
make her look at him. She stared up at him, eyes wide, hand still
stroking, afraid to stop.

“Open,” he said.

She opened her mouth wide, stuck out her tongue. His hips pushed
forward and he was in her mouth, his cock was in her mouth,
sweat-salty and hot, the whole circle of men was watching her suck
his cock. Heat was rising in her. There was somewhere past blushing
and shame, and she was reaching it. What was she afraid of, that
they would grab her, fuck her? They were going to. She had been
commanded to let them. She was the spirit’s instrument, she
was their pleasure-toy, everything she had feared was already
happening and it was good, a blessing. They would make her dirty and
the river would make her clean and divine. She just had to let go,
and be their whore.

The bearded man’s cock was in her mouth, her tongue playing
over the tip. She had to make him flow, she had been commanded, all
she had to do was make them flow. She leaned forward, taking more of
the shaft in her mouth, sliding her lips down his length as her hand
worked on him, desperate to drink him.

Strong hands grabbed her wrists, guided her fingers away from the
shaft in front of her. She bobbed her head up and down, trying her
best, feeling happy and proud as the bearded man began to groan and
dig his fingers into her hair. Her hands were being pushed against
things now, hot things, other shafts. Good, she thought, good, more
can use me at once. She curled her fingers around the other men’s
cocks, rolling her eyes to look up, seeing men standing close above
her, gasping with pleasure as she touched them, stroked them.

She pulled back from the bearded man’s cock, her mouth open,
gasping for breath, drool on her lips. He was petting her hair,
looking down at her with affection as he took himself in hand and
started stroking. She smiled up at him, opened her mouth to ask if
he had felt good, if he had liked it, and he pushed forward between
her lips and filled her mouth with hot, sticky saltiness. She gulped
it down, tongue pressing along the underside of his shaft, pulling
more out of him. It was warm inside her, warm in her stomach, she
was the vessel, she was being blessed…

There were hands on her body, now, lifting her, turning her, bending
her over the wooden altar. Good, she thought, good and right, I am
an offering, display me, take me. She stretched out her arms amid
the piles of flowers, arching her back, raising her hips to show
herself to everyone.

She felt hands on her legs, fingers trailing upward from her calves
to her thighs. She was on tiptoes, bent over among the flowers,
biting her lip as fingertips brushed up and down over her slit.
No, no,
she thought,
don’t tease me, don’t just
touch me, I’m already wet, use me, use me to come, use me as
hard as you want to.
She could feel herself almost aching
inside, ready, needing. The hands gripped her cheeks, squeezing
hard, adding to the tingling torture of her readiness. Then,
finally, there was a touch at her entrance, a shaft pushing in, deep,
satisfying, reaching down into the well of warmth at the center of
her and stirring it into motion. She was moaning, she was babbling
something, begging, and he was pounding in and out of her, slamming
into her like she wasn’t even a person, just a tool to be used
for this. She was dizzy with the pleasure and the thrill and the
scent of flowers. He was coming in her, she could feel him pouring
in, something hot flowing into her, and then he was pulling out but
another was coming in right after. The men were crowding around her,
praising her and using her, taking turns. She whimpered as the next
shaft pushed into her, thicker than the ones before, but as it moved
the pleasure kept building. She was panting like a dog. Their flow
was dripping down her thighs, hot and slow, and another was using
her, she didn’t know how many now. She was almost sobbing as
the pleasure built inside her and broke, she came as he fucked her,
not knowing who he was, which one he was, and as he finished on her
back, painting her dark skin white, another man was pressing close to
use her, not letting her rest. And as he used her the rhythm was
building heat inside her again, and she was coming again, harder,
like floodwaters washing down the valley, washing away everything,
washing away her mind, carrying her down toward a dark, dark ocean.