The Warlord's Concubine (10 page)

“Mother? Mother!” he called, leaning over and touching
her arm to try and stop her from hurting herself. The mere contact
seemed to bring her back to lucidity.

“She carries your blood in her now,” she stated with
extreme clarity. “She can be a witch of the coven because of
that.”

Mirella’s black brow arched, and she looked to her god
quickly. A lot of women carried his blood now, many with her direct
influence and help. He was, she’d noted quite readily, a very
virile individual. “Your Greatness?” she asked curiously,
uncertain of how to deal with his lunatic of a mother, uncertain of
what she meant, and what this meant for her and them.

The towering God-King looked down at her, his own brows furrowed
slightly as he flitted his gaze between the two women. The same
curious glint was in his eyes, but before he could put them to voice
the mad woman spoke again.

“She means it, you know? Truly means it,” and the Seer
was taken by another fit of mad laughter that seemed ready to consume
her.

When their patience was nearly at an end and he started to turn,
the Seer spoke once more in chilling calm. “When you march to
war again, bring her to me. Bring them all to me,” then she
fainted. Her robes flapping as she just unceremoniously fell into a
pile on the cushions.

The hard-faced Kulav recognized it for what it was, he bent over
the palanquin, kissing the old woman tenderly on the forehead and
restored her carriage flaps.

Guiding Mirella to the back stairs, rather than to the front
doors, he explained simply “That’s all she has,”
leaving her for her own raven-guards to collect, she presumed.

“Oh,” Mirella murmured. She had been left dizzy and
confused, and despite the fact that she always seemed to stay so
close to him, she was almost overlapping him as they walked. Her
breathing was a lot heavier, and she forced herself to calm down, but
the confusion still swirled in her mind. “So that went well?”

Svella had once stated that it was considered an excessive waste—a
sin even—for the God-King to spill his seed fruitlessly. So
that meant he could not spare his virility for the pregnant of his
harem. Since meeting with the demigod’s seer-mother, he’d
kept her with him instead of in the tent, and she’d wondered if
she could get him to violate that taboo in private.

On her knees before him and between his legs as he sat by the
window, she lavished his manhood with her affections as he sat nude,
seeming to fluctuate between deep contemplation and appreciation for
her and her ministrations.

The tower he was in gave a view of the mountain pass, and it was
not favoured by the old rulers. The room itself, though large and
opulent, would’ve been reserved for guests only, but he
preferred it. His mind always on the next challenge beyond.

For the past few days, she’d been a constant around the
palace, and was growing to like it more and more, despite the worries
that plagued her. She wanted to be of more help and use to the god,
but she could barely make sense of the woman’s ranting. As her
tongue ran up the base of his shaft, she played with him, enjoying
his company immensely.

“Your Greatness?” she murmured softly, her kittenish
tongue prodding him.

Through all his deep contemplations, she always managed to keep
him so rock hard, that magnificent shaft never losing its rigidity.
So when he looked down at her, its thick girth blocked out much of
her face. “Mirella?” he responded in his husky tone, that
organ throbbing, disgorging more of its slick precum from its dark,
ebon-purple tip.

Her tongue swirled up to capture it. She took such pleasure in his
body, it overrode everything else, “How do I become a witch of
the coven?” Both of them had been lost in their own
contemplations. As she worked him so skilfully, her green eyes
peering at him from beneath the sizable shaft, her tongue poking out
along the sides, she knew she needed more from him.

Taking a deep breath his broad chest swelled, those hard muscles,
seemingly etched in stone, rising then falling as he peered back out
the window. “Mother will see to it when I march off to meet the
princes army,” he said plainly, the obsidian king enjoying his
time with her, seeming more relaxed than she’d saw him to be in
ages. “I don’t know more than that, I’m afraid.”

He hesitated, licking his lips, “The Ka’reem men
despise the might of the witches. And women in general,” he
explained. “They work mysterious magics that have effects
beyond their understanding. But they more often refuse to use those
powers. Regardless of the cost to the people. So,” he shrugged
his broad shoulders, “the men fear them for what they might do,
but loathe them for having such strength over them and refusing to
use it.”

She was thoughtful for a long time as she worked that huge member,
devoted to it. Though she still simply teased him, there was a
quickened pace and a firmer pressure against the swollen tip. Her
mouth suckled him so eagerly, not worried about the aching in her
knees and the heaviness of her breasts. “Would I be the first
non-Ka’reem woman practicing?”

Her increased efforts had their effect, she saw the tensing in his
hard muscles, the lines of sinew rise for a moment before softening
again from his neck on down across his pecs and abs to his thighs.
“As far as I know,” he said with lust in his voice, she’d
gotten through his barriers, and she could tell his mind was no
longer elsewhere. It was focussed on her.

“The witches don’t share their secrets with any
outsiders. Never have from what I managed to learn of them,” he
couldn’t help but grunt a little, that monstrously large cock
throbbing thickly as his heavy sac laid down between those powerful
thighs of his. “Mother is no longer a wealth of information on
such things however, not since...” he trailed off, shutting his
eyes and reclining, enjoying her fellatio.

She wanted to pry, to find out why, but something more important
occurred to her. Though her hand still stroked him, her fingers
rubbing lightly along his sac, she tilted her face from around his
cock, staring at him curiously. “Will this put something
between us?”

Breathing more heavily he opened his eyes ever so slightly and
looked down to her as if troubled that her mouth had ceased its
movements on him. “You’re willing to do anything for me,
are you not?” it was less of a question and more of a
statement, but he seemed to expect an answer nonetheless.

“Absolutely,” she said, instantly cutting off further
conversation by suckling him once more, seeming reassured by his
words and eager to get back to pleasing him. If he wasn’t
concerned, then certainly there was no need for her to be. As her
tongue whorled around him, her eyes were focused on his.

Watching her a while, she saw his mouth slowly fall open, his
breathing grown heavier. “Come here,” he told her in his
harsh, lusty voice, pulling her arms to get her to sit in his lap.
She rose up, bending her knees and lowering herself onto him. He held
her hips and angled her so that his member slipped into her cunt,
those puffy lips still so tight for his large size, making him groan
in pleasure.

She leaned against him so eagerly, pressing her soft, nude form
against his, her arms wrapped around his neck tightly. As her mouth
found his, he could feel her intensity and desire, her need for him
and his reassurance. When he’d found her all those months ago,
she’d been so entranced by him and his power and coveted both.

Now, she had let herself fall open to him, to someone else, in a
way that no other person had ever been able to even let her glimpse.
He’d torn into her and made her utterly his, and that kiss, the
way she fucked him was one of love. Of her love, of devotion and
worship and praise.

Those strong hands of his felt out her body, kneaded and stroked
those engorged breasts, brushed past her already budding stomach and
then back around her to her ass. That powerful grip of his lifted her
up and brought her crashing back down at a quickened pace, so that
she was riding him hard.

Breaking their kiss he husked to her in his gravelly voice,
“You’ll serve me no matter what happens. If I come back
defeated, and the witches sorcery has driven you mad, I’ll grab
you by the hair and drag you into the north to rut still.”

Her laugh was soft, but he could tell there was real affection
there, a tenderness shared between them in their own way. Her lips
found his neck, then his ear, her voice whispering to him, “What
happened to drive her mad?”

Her entire body was such a delight, and the way her hips rocked
were so skilled, tailored just to him. Her entire behaviour and
actions had all been fine-tuned by her god, and that gave her all the
more confidence in them as her thighs pushed up and down with his
grip.

The slight tensing in his body beneath her pumping form betrayed
the sensitive nature of the topic, but she wasn’t reprimanded.
The harsh conqueror instead squeezed her ass cheeks and hurried her
pace, sending her achingly engorged breasts bouncing and crashing
against her chest with painful force.

He didn’t answer her, not right away. Instead he let the
moment go on, her sweet kisses upon his hard flesh helping coax him
along. It was then she felt it, his inhuman girth twitching, the old
familiar feeling as finally she brought the God-King back to climax
within her, not having to share the moment with any other.

Instead his seed shot out into her—for her—alone, and
he arched his neck back, pushing his head into the back of the chair.
Her continued pumping squeezed the creamy essence out of him
entirely, leaving him breathing hard, his glistening chest
undulating.

“Do you really wish to know?” he asked, his voice not
upset but calm.

Her body still sang from his climax, and her entire form trembled
against him so tenderly. She loved him. Awareness of the truth
crashed through her and left her weak. That familiar wetness began to
slide from her tight quim, and she couldn’t help but send a
frenzied scurry of kisses up his neck to his lips.

When finally she came down from her high, it was only just enough
to nod, her eyes intent upon him.

The God-King Kulav didn’t get up, didn’t disturb the
peace of their moment. Instead he tightened his hold on her ass and
pulled her in against him in a tight embrace.

He rested his head against the top of hers, forcing her to nestle
in against his neck and chest beneath his chin, the final throbbing
of his cock inside her tight quim the only thing to disturb the
moment. “Mother didn’t warn me against you. And she’s
agreed to show you secrets that could destroy us all. So I suppose it
doesn’t matter,” he stated in a light act of surrender
that acknowledged his trust in her.

She kissed him so tenderly, just enough to try to coax him along
as she rest in his lap, feeling herself reach a state of calm and
peace she’d never known existed. He was helping her transcend
the barriers of reality, she was certain, for the way she felt about
him surely could not be attained by a mere mortal.

With his lips so near to her ear, she seemed absorbed into his
hard, gravely words, that masculine husk so entrancing it seemed to
consume her. “They said my mother made a pact with the Lord of
the Hells when she gave birth to me. Her husband disowned her, cast
her out.

“She lived a life of miserable poverty. Beaten and abused by
the others of her tribe. She was the object of their hatred and
blame, for all their misfortune.” His thickly muscled arms
tightened about her just slightly, “As I grew older, and my
dark visage grew more and more pronounced, they decided I had to be
destroyed to save them from the curse of the devils.

“My mother,” he hesitated, “would not allow it.
She paid a price too heinous to mention to see me to my safety. A
price she has never stopped paying, Mirella.” His dark lips
kissed along her ear for a brief pause in his telling, “When I
returned, many long years later, a grown man... she was battered.
Broken. Abused. A slave of a lowly battle-chief. I slayed him,
claimed my mother as my own in the spoils of combat.”

With a deep intake of breath that swelled his chest out and made
her whole body rise he then sighed almost inaudibly. “She was
still cogent then. But she was broken. Blind. She felt a burden to
me” he rephrased, “she was a burden to me.”

With a lick of his lips he hesitated once more, “She delved
into powers of the coven on her own that not even a hundred witches
should have. And she did it for me.” He kissed along her cheek,
and then tilted her head back, moving to her lips. “That is why
she is as you see her now, and shall forever remain so.”

Her breathing had stilled to the point that for a moment it seemed
like she was asleep until that first bit of moisture hit his chest
and he felt her eyelashes bat against him, her body beginning to
tremble. Her clutch had grown on him and she nuzzled against his
throat so tightly she feared she might cut off his breath, but it
didn’t matter. She needed to be against him, to be a part of
him, and even though his cock still pressed to her, it wasn’t
enough to still her sobs.

Life as the God-King’s favoured concubine was not an easy
one. In the tent with the other women, Mirella had almost free reign
to do as she wished, except for those times she was called to serve.
Instead her day began early, for the warlord Kulav—as she’d
come to know his true name—was a demanding and insatiable
Master who awoke early, slept little and was ever busy.

He was glorious to see in action though. His ebon body so toned
and muscular as he pounded into her from the break of dawn until his
morning lusts were sated in her, leaving her a panting, wet mess,
drooling his sacred seed.