Khon

My father told his sons that when a warrior sees the virgin meant for him, he instantly knows. It doesn’t matter if she’s half a mile away, or close enough to smell her.

Some warriors secretly select their virgins from their own village. Some females enter the plains already claimed, and rendezvous with their chosen warriors in the Love Field. These unions are ceremonial. Those are the ones visitors see. The visitors. I was overruled when it was decided to open our rites for display, for money. It feels wrong, to share our sacred rituals. But the Flame Stone fields are slow to restore, and so a concession was made. We needed the income.

I’ve been running the fields since just after the virgin gates were open. I have watched as females ran past, unaware that they were in my reach, that I could have grabbed them. But none spoke to me. None stirred my cock. I was worried. Had I passed up my chance too often? Would the gods not send one for me? As the sun and moon grew level in the sky, I found myself wandering alone. And I would have given up, but for this moment.

My cock stiffens at just the glimpse of her, and I raise my nose to the breeze to catch her scent. I smell fear, and defiance. She smells… different. She is not one of our villagers, but that is not unusual. At each Moon Festival, neighboring villages send both virgins and warriors. I sprint toward the rocks, feeling heat in my blood. It will be tricky, cornering her in the dark of the cave, but I am willing to take the risk. Or I would have been. There is a back entrance to the cave—a hole in the top of the rocks. I watch as she pulls herself through. She looks back at me, eyes wide in her painted face. Something in her expression calls to me. I rush forward, my long legs covering ground at a pace far faster than hers. She’s scrambled down the rocks behind the cave and is sprinting away. A ceremonial knife is clutched in one hand, but she doesn’t turn. She wants me to run her down. Some virgins like the chase, either as excitement or as a tactic to tire the warrior. She’s fast on open ground, but I’m still faster. Only when I’m five strides away does she turn with a scream. She holds the knife out in front of her, a wild, terrified look in her eyes.

“Get back!” she cries. “Don’t make me use this!”

I stop and can’t help but laugh. She’s small, but is doing her best to look fierce. I respect what it takes, facing down a warrior. Even with a knife, few virgins can prevail. But it’s not the weapon I’m looking at. I’m looking past it, to her lush body. The full breasts strain against the confines of the skin dress. Her belly is flat save for a small, pleasant swell. Her dust-covered legs seem paler than most of the other virgins I’ve seen, and less muscled. She looks… softer. But her unusual appearance only makes me want her more. I wonder if the mounds of her bottom are as pale. I ache with desire, imagining how they will blush under my hand. I will enjoy claiming this virgin.

“Submit, little virgin,” I say. “Drop your weapon and your first lesson will not be severe. Just a few spanks on your pretty bottom, to remind you of the balance of power. And then I will rid you of your virginity, and reveal the mysteries of pleasure.”

“You’re not revealing anything to me but the way out of here.” Her voice is shaking. “I’m not supposed to be here. This is a mistake…”

A different picture emerges now. This is a reluctant virgin. Perhaps she’d hoped to be a priestess. Each year, several virgins apply to serve in the moon temple. If the high priestesses do not deem a virgin suited for a lifetime of service, they send them to the fields. This would explain why she is so pale, and so reluctant.

“There is no mistake,” I say, and begin to circle her. She turns as I do, her expression no less fearful, no less determined. “Serving me will be more fun than serving the gods. Just…”

“Back!” She jabs out wildly. “Back off!”

Enough. I could tease her a little more. I could enrage her in more verbal foreplay, making the conquering all the sweeter. But I sense that her defiance is not meant to heighten tension, but is the genuine reaction of a virgin who does not want to submit. It is only merciful to end her defiance.

I move toward her and she lashes out wildly. Her bone knife grazes my arm, the blade drawing a line of pain that burns for a moment before blood seeps from the nearly invisible slice. I’m glad for it, though; now I have an excuse to punish her sternly. It is the only way to break this kind of defiance.

She’s looking at the blade, as if surprised that she’s drawn blood, and I take advantage of her distraction to grasp her wrist. She struggles, kicking out at me. I squeeze and watch as the hand slowly opens. The blade clatters to the ground and I pick it up and fling it away as any good warrior will do when disarming a recalcitrant virgin. I prepare to adjust my grip when I feel her knee strike between my legs.

I roar, both from pain and indignation. It was not a direct blow, but a forbidden one. No virgin strikes a warrior between his legs. It is illegal move for any Ythilian—male or female—to strike a warrior in the Temple of his Seed. As the pain recedes to an ache, I pull the virgin to me and grab her by the back of the hair, wrenching her head back until she is forced to look up at me.

“For that, little one, your first lesson will be severe.”

“Wait… wait!” she cries out, but I am in no mood to entertain merciful thoughts. I reach for the top of her shift and rip it from her body. She is as pale as moonlight compared to the others, her curves softer and fuller. Her breasts, firm, heavy, and pear-shaped, are crowned with dark pink nipples. I am eager to take them in my mouth, to pull and suck on them as she screams and yanks my hair in her attempt to stop me. Her pussy will be wet by the time I am finished. But first? First, she must be punished.

I sit down on the boulder and pull her over my lap. She is yelling at me, telling me this is a mistake, and that I will pay for what I am doing. I almost laugh. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps she was not a priestess in training, but another chieftain’s pampered daughter. Her father would have been wise to tell her no one can protect her here.

I will be her authority now. I raise my hand and bring it down with a satisfying blow that flattens her bottom cheeks. They spring back to bloom with the imprint of my hand and her words end in a wail of pain that ricochets off the surrounding rocks.

Her bottom is everything I could have hoped for. Soft, round, full, and designed to absorb the impact of punishment. It soon glows burnished pink above the white of her thighs, which are churning and kicking. Tiny dark curls hide her pussy, and I briefly imagine the ceremonial shaving that reminds mated females that nothing will ever again hide their treasures from their conquering warrior. The heat off her round bottom has stirred my cock to unbearable hardness. I push down on her lower back so that she might feel it press against her soft belly, might know what I have in store for her when I am done reddening her bottom. I move my hand to her punished ass, massaging the sting into her skin before dipping my fingers between her legs to slip past the soft curls.

Her pussy is wet. I jerk aside one leg and push her forward, looking between them at the prize I will plunder. She wails in indignation, her hands going back in a modest attempt to cover herself.

“No, little one,” I say. “This is mine now.” I push a finger beyond her slick labial folds, feeling for the virgin membrane I will breach. My finger meets the shallow barrier, so insignificant against the first thrust that will end her virgin state.

“No. No. No. You can’t.” She’s still protesting, although she’s showing all the signs of excitement. Her pupils are dilated. Her skin is flushed. Her lips are parted. And I can smell her arousal—its tangy sweetness making my mouth water. I long to lap it away until she is screaming and shuddering astride my face.

But not yet. My cock will not be ignored. It’s throbbing and bobbing under my loincloth. I pull her to standing and pull aside my loincloth, watching her eyes widen as I grasp the base of my shaft. “This,” I say. “This will soon be yours.”

“I don’t want it!” She recoils.

“Little liar,” I say. “You’re slick and hot and ready. Neither of us will be denied a moment more.”

I turn her, push her forward, pushing my hand between her legs as I seek the tiny kernel of flesh at the apex of her cleft. There it is, hard and small under my finger. I rub in insistent circles and she’s moaning now, her protests weaker and weaker until they die in her throat. When I kick her legs apart, she doesn’t even fight. When I push my cock to the entrance of her pussy, testing her virgin barrier, she only whimpers. When I thrust into her, only then does she cry out. She writhes beneath me, and I let her. She is so small. I am so large. She wriggles under me as she adjusts to the shock of my girth stretching her untried passage.

Then her pussy begins to quiver around me and the rippling of her slick walls threatens to have me give up my seed. But she is not in control, not even here. I will decide when to bathe her womb with my tribute. I begin to move, pumping into her, and her little mewls of pain became deep moans.

She’s thrusting back against me, her movements sweet and inexperienced as her body responds of its own accord. I grasp her hips, helping her find the tempo I set as I move in and out of her body. Her pussy is so tight, so hot.

“Ah… ah… ah…” She’s making little noises now, sweet little noises, noises of surprise at the pleasure she’s feeling. And I know she’s feeling it because the walls of her pussy are beginning to quiver again. I can feel her climax building, and I allow my own excitement to ramp up, to join hers. Together we climb to the heights of passion, and only when I feel her pussy’s rhythmic, throbbing grip do I jettison my seed with a cry of carnal joy. In the distance, I hear the cheers of my fellow warriors as finally—at long last—I claim my Mate for Life.