Kohn

She is foolish. She is defiant. She is my mate.

She doesn’t yet believe it, so I carry the belief for both of us. The gods have given her to me, and I have no doubt they will bless us. And when they do—when she sees what the blessing means—she will be convinced.

Anya, you are mine. This I know, and already my blood burns with desire to protect her, provide for her, to train her. My blood burns with the desire to drive all thoughts of leaving from her mind, to make her burn too—to burn with pleasure so strong that she will feel the bond just as I do.

Anya. So pale, so soft. I watch her bathe in the spring, watch her wash the mud from her face. And now I can see the softness there, too. Our kind have evolved to be larger, stronger, faster, more powerful. In my mind’s eye, I always saw myself with one of those females. But now I only want her. I only want her softness, her sweet vulnerability.

I see others notice. They whisper behind their hands. News of what happened has spread. Although we have human lineage, the Ythilians resent the arrogance of modern Earth inhabitants. I, the chieftain of my clan, have mated and bonded with an outsider. Only the blessing of the gods will make them accept her.

“Do you like the warmth of the spring?” I ask.

“I’d like it better if I could have some privacy.” Her hair, devoid now of bones and braids, hangs in a flat dark curtain down her back. The tops of her white breasts bob above the surface of the water. I run my hands down her body, washing away the dirt and sweat and evidence of our encounter. Around us, other warriors are doing the same with their mates.

“Everyone is naked,” she says.

“There is no shame here,” I tell her. “We are not ashamed of sex here. We glory in our bodies, the bodies of our mates.” My hands slide down her arms, down her sides. I cup her bottom, and she looks up at me.

“Don’t.” Her tone is as tense as her body.

“I will not hurt you.” My arms slide back up, now cupping her breasts. The nipples harden like pebbles under my hands. She suppresses a moan and bites her lower lip. I trail one hand down her belly, slide it between her legs. I can feel her inner labia, slick and swollen, beneath the pad of my finger. “I can teach you to take pleasure, Anya, without fear. You are no longer a virgin. You can feel free to explore your power.”

“Power?” she asks, her voice as tight as the pussy I probe with my finger. She is hot inside, wet. “What kind of power do I have when you drug me with an aphrodisiac? That’s what the fruit you fed me was. You admitted it!”

I reach my other hand behind her back, pulling her to me. “In time, you will know me well enough to realize when I am teasing you.”

Her fair face flushes scarlet as realization dawns.

“That’s right, my little mate.” I begin to slide my finger in and out of her slick passage. “It was just an ordinary fruit. But your response is just as sweet, just as… juicy.” She squirms in my grasp, but it’s a half-hearted resistance. The body straddling my teasing fingers is warm and wriggling. Her pink lips are parted as she pants. The defiance in her eyes gives way to lust. “That’s it, my little one,” I coax. “That’s it.”

Around us, the soft sighs of other couples rise like music from the steamy spring. My cock is rigid with need. I must have her again. My hands return to her bottom, lifting her, spreading her legs. I nestle her pussy atop my shaft and let her go. She cries out as she slides onto me, the quivering grip of her hot channel rippling along the length of my sensitive rod. She’s looking in my eyes now, her expression one of helpless wonder.

“No…” she says.

“No?” I reach up, pushing a strand of wet hair from her face. “Say the word and I will remove myself from you.” I accompany my promise with a gentle thrust and she emits a quavering little cry and closes her eyes. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to remove myself? Or do you want me to move, to stroke your sweet pussy until you shake with pleasure. Can you feel it, Anya? Can you feel the flame of it sparking inside you? Would you put it out, my little mate, or would you feed it? Tell me what you want.”

She tells me without words, wrapping her arms around my neck and rising before sinking back down on my shaft. Her movements are unskilled, but she is using my cock, and joy rises inside of me. I let her, supporting her ass with my hands as she finds the rhythm. She learns quickly, her movements becoming graceful with only a little guidance. I dip my head down, finding a nipple. She throws her upper body back, her hair fanning out in the water. I begin to thrust harder, taking over, robbing her of control. And this is when she comes, her pussy contracting in waves, squeezing my cock until I spend into her in thick, hot spurts.

She cannot accuse me of taking her without consent. Not now. I see it in her eyes, the guilt, when she comes back to her senses. She’s ashamed of herself, but she should not be. I will teach her to love this, to love her natural responses.

I lift her off my cock, wash her gently. Eventually my seed will stay inside of her and take root. Now I feel it trail from her body into the water that washes it away.

“Come,” I say. “We must hurry.”

She comes to her senses. “Where?”

I point to the line of couples approaching the rock at the edge of the pool. A fellow warrior, Ingnar has already laid his mate on the pink slab. She spreads her legs wide as he picks up one of the sharp stones from a pile off to the side. There is a stone bowl of emollient. Ingnar scoops some up with two fingers and slathers it on his mate’s pubic mound. She arches her back to his touch, spreading her legs further.

“What is he doing?” Beside me, Anya stops.

“Only virgins have curls between their legs, Anya. A mated female must be rid of them, to symbolize that her treasures will always be laid bare for the pleasure of her warrior.” I hold out my hand. “Come.”

“You… you think I’ll let you do that to me?”

“There is no let, little mate. It is our way.”

“Stop… stop calling me that!” She raises her voice, backs away.

As warrior chieftain, I allow my fellow warriors to go first, to honor their allegiance to me. But now I notice that those waiting their turn are looking.

“Anya.” I deepen my voice in warning. She is an outsider. She is challenging me. When she tries to turn away, I grab her.

“You will lie on the rock,” I say sternly. “You will spread your legs. You will submit.”

Tears spring to her eyes. Her full lower lip is trembling. I am not cold-hearted. I understand that she is afraid. Part of me wants to enfold her in my arms, to spare her what surely must feel like an indignity, but I cannot. I pull her to me, put my mouth to her ear.

“I do not want to publicly punish you, my Anya. I do not want to have one of my brothers hold you while I paint marks on your bottom and thighs with a leather strap.” I feel her shudder at the threat. “But test me and I will, and afterwards, you will still submit to the shaving.” I pause, letting my words sink it. She is trembling all over now. I press my lips to her temple. “You may not believe it, but I only want to bring you pleasure. Do not make me bring you pain. The ceremony will not hurt, and yours will not be the first pussy on display. Remember, what scandalizes you is normal for us.”

She softens, defeated. I wish it could be different. I wish I could shave her in the privacy of my tent, not because I am ashamed, but because I know this is all so strange to her, so unsettling. But this is the price of her deception. Had she not entered to spy on the mating fields, she’d be on her way back to Earth now.

Ingnar is walking down from the stone. He is beaming with pride. His mate is tall for an Ythilian female and strong. Her shaved pussy has a long, narrow mound and a deep cleft. He stops beside me. Our females could not be more different.

“So it is true,” he says. “The gods gave you a human as your mate…”

“She looks weak.” His mate speaks up.

“Don’t be unkind, Illya,” Ingnar says, and while she grows silent, her glare betrays the resentment only the blessing of the gods can overcome. He steps closer. “Excuse my mate, Kohn, but some in the village are angry.”

“Then they are angry at the gods,” I say. “For it was their will, and not mine. My cock rose to her. She opened to me. It is fate.”

Ingnar nods. “And if the gods prove your bond tomorrow, then my household will accept her as the mate of our warrior brother.”

His mate, I note, does not look as convinced. She continues to stare at Anya, and I’m relieved when the line moves forward. Up ahead, the crowds cheer as the females are shaved bare by their mates.

“I can’t do this,” Anya says as we approach.

“You only have to lie back,” I say. “And look at the sky.”

“Then I will focus on that bright spot.” She points to the distant glimmer. Earth.

“As you wish,” I say. We’ve reached the stone now. I keep my hand pressed to the small of her back, gently propelling her forward lest she stops. Other couples are returning to the stone to watch, and I know many are curious about my mate. I lay her down on the stone. She does not look at me. She looks at the sky.

“You must lie still,” I say, picking up a sharp stone. I curve my fingers and sweep it through the emollient, and feel her flinch as I rub it onto her outer labia. I coat the soft, tight curls covering her pubic mound. My cock bobs under my long leather skirt, eager once more to be wrapped in her heat.

“Spread your legs, Anya,” I say. She complies, haltingly. Her pussy is wet. Even now, even in her defiance and trepidation, her body wants me as I want hers. I run the edge of the stone down her skin. The emollient, made from a plant extract, kills the hair at the root. The stone edge pulls it free, leaving a female bare for the rest of her life. Anya’s mound is plump and soft, her cleft deep. I can see the little nub of her clitoris peeking from under the hood. She squirms. She is excited. I am eager to finish, to get her back to the tent.

When she is completely bare, I raise my hand to a trickle of water running from the rock to my side and use it to wipe her clean.

“You are perfection.” I take her hand, raise her to standing. The other couples gathered around the rock are quiet as we descend. They murmur as we pass. Some smile. Some just stare. She’s different than they are. She’s different than me. But none of that matters. All that matters is whether the gods bless our union. That is the final step. Without it, my people will never accept her.