I went back and reread this series last night and felt a pang of nostalgia. So, time to continue. Not gonna lie, this is a short one. But, it seemed like an important part to tell.
Bulkun is asleep within seconds, his chest lightly pressing against you each time he inhales. Your mind is hazy from having gotten off, but it is far too cluttered with so many fractured thoughts for you to sleep. Trying to make sense of it all, you grasp at the first thought that comes to mind.
This feels nice.
You start. With everything that has happened, that’s the first thought that makes sense? You scoff in disbelief and instinctively push the thought away, but it comes back. Now that you really think about it, this does feel nice. Having Bulkun’s big, strong arms wrapped around you, you feel safe, but more than that, you feel like you belong. It’s a warm feeling, belonging.
But the thought escapes, disappearing into the maelstrom of images and notions swirling in your head. Bulkun’s words from the other day—no, earlier today—suddenly take form and ring in your ears.
“…it’s not because he thinks I am incapable of love but because he doesn’t believe he deserves to be loved.”
You gasp, almost as violently as the first time you heard them, and your mind starts racing once more: being made to orgasm in the Matriarch’s mouth, sucking Bulkun’s dick on the ship, being ordered to serve ales, the burning humiliation you felt when the Matriarch made you stand naked in front of your peers.
Why? Why was it so terrible?
You had never talked to anyone who had been a concubine before. You knew of them in the tribe, and they seemed happy enough. But were they really? Or had they just mastered the art of hiding it? Was that what you were supposed to do? Just…grin and bear it?
“Fake it if you must.”
You blink in the darkness. He said that, didn’t he? Yes, back on the ship. It wasn’t that dissimilar to the Matriarch telling you to just “do your duty”, was it? Was he right that if you faked it long enough, you’d start to believe it? Would that be better? Would it be better to willingly subject yourself to—
You feel his arms squeeze lightly around you. That sense of belonging comes back.
—this…
Your thoughts freeze. Your mind is a blank slate. For a few moments, you enter the eye of the hurricane, and don’t think anything. You just feel: contentment, serenity, an almost peaceful sense of knowing that this is where you belong.
Your breath catches.
What if you’re not faking it?
But that means—
No! You shake your head violently, your antlers narrowly missing hitting Bulkun’s face.
You were meant to be more than this. You’re a warrior and a scholar! You were going to find a mate, sire a family, support your parents, and grow old until your children supported you in your old age. In the meantime, your hunting skills would bring your village prosperity, and your scholarship would help them—
Who are you kidding? The very best scholars in your village had no idea that ships the size of the one you rode existed, let alone that this place existed. Every one of your warriors had been bested easily in one fell swoop. The level of leadership, organization, and discipline you had witnessed was—all of it—on a whole different level than your village had ever seen. What greatness did your village have to offer? What did it all matter in the grand scheme of things when someone like Bulkun could easily wipe it all out on a whim?
Your thoughts start to swirl again. What you thought you were going to be before, you weren’t. Even if you were able to sire a family and live your life as a warrior-scholar, the whole thing would have been a lie.
And you wouldn’t have even known it.
The thought hits you like a bolt of lightning, and you feel your guts twist up. Your ignorance—your whole tribe’s ignorance—was complete. You had zero concept that such a world as this existed. But now you know. What else doesn’t your tribe know? A mere week ago, you knew what your life would be just as well as you knew that there was nothing noteworthy beyond the docks, save for the occasional merchant ship. But Bulkun had talked of many different nations in every direction. What if, in the grand scheme of things, your village was nothing more than a quaint, backwards novelty, something for nations like the Redelhorn to treat politely because squashing you would be akin to kicking a pet dog?
You shudder at the thought, but there’s another thought lurking there, demanding your attention.
What else doesn’t your tribe know?
What else matters? you wonder.
“That backwards place.”
Who had said that? Backwards? Why does that word stick in your memory?
“Chieftain says his tribe’s a bunch of backwards fanatics; I’m sure if he’d had any ‘experience’, they’d have kicked him out a long time ago.”
Bulkun. He had called your tribe backwards. Repeatedly. Why?
“Throw the fear and humiliation pounded into you by your former tribe out the window and into the sea; they have no place here.”
You gasp. Is that what he thinks is backwards? No, of course not. Why would it be? It makes good sense, after all: if you shirk your duty to sire a fawn, who will care for you in your old age? You don’t want to be a burden on the village, of course! And if you’re out—you swallow uncomfortably—bedding other males—then when are you going to settle down and create a family? And, of course, if you were to spread the idea that it was acceptable to—you swallow again—bed other males, what would society devolve into? All the bucks rutting each other and ignoring the females? How would your village survive?
You surprise yourself by laughing out loud.
Catching yourself, you suck in a breath and hold very still, hoping you didn’t wake Bulkun. But, his breathing remains slow and steady, and you let out a sigh of relief.
How would your village survive? you ask yourself again, rolling your eyes. What difference does it make whether the bucks in your village fuck each other or the does? Compared to someone like the Redelhorn, your village might as well be a tiny colony of ants: you exist at Bulkun’s pleasure, and nothing you do matters.
Your mind clears, and for a moment, everything seems so obvious…if you could only tell what it was that you were supposed to have discovered. It’s as if a light has switched on in your mind, but it doesn’t reveal anything; it’s just a–a bright spot.
Nothing you do matters. Well, that’s depressing, you think. You frown. Or is it?
If nothing you do matters, then what difference does it make if you bed other males—or other males bed you, as it were? No matter what you do, you’re forbidden from visiting your tribe again without Bulkun’s say-so, so it’s not like they’re going to judge you any more than they already have. So, yeah, why shouldn’t you enjoy yourself? If you get hard because you’re submitting to another male, what difference does it make? Should you feel bad for going against the traditions of an ant-colony?
“Embrace your role, and you will discover all the joy and fulfillment you need.”
Oh.
Suddenly, things click into place. Your village—and the life you had there—is in the past. Their rules are in the past. And, your master—your new Matriarch, your new rule-setter—wants you to enjoy sexually pleasuring another male.
Your chest suddenly hurts. It’s as if you had been used to being crushed by a boulder, and now that it’s been lifted, your body doesn’t know how to feel. Part of you wants to cry. Part of you wants to laugh. Part of you wants to hug Bulkun and kiss that rugged, masculine muzzle, to thank him for—
He stirs. “There’s that internal monologue,” he murmurs.
Your eyes widen, and you tense and hold your breath. Is he awake? Does he somehow know?
His breathing returns to its slow, steady rhythm, and you slowly force yourself to relax and to breathe again. A faint smile crosses your lips, and for the first time, you think this might be okay…maybe even better than okay.
You shift a little to roll onto your stomach, and then your eyes snap open as pain shoots through your prick.
Oh…right… you wince. Why the hell did he have to pierce your dick?!
You slowly drift off, thinking about the irony of having only figured out how to enjoy “showing your devotion” after it was too late to avoid having your penis permanently altered.
“Wake up, Vales.”
You groan, and as you shift, you suddenly suck in a breath through clenched teeth: your prick, which has been outside the warm, moist comfort of its sheath for many hours now, has gotten dry and painfully sensitive. But as you flinch, another, unexpected pain fills your ass.
“Easy, Vales,” Bulkun says, wrapping you in a hug and pulling you in close to him, one arm across your chest and the other across your waist.
The pain in your dick melts away as you realize that he is buried balls-deep inside your ass.
“Not a bad way to wake up, is it?” he asks.
You swallow. “N–no, Master,” you say.
You feel a rush of embarrassment color your features as your prick responds to the stimulation. But, remembering your thoughts last night, you push the embarrassment aside, focusing instead on how good it feels to have his shaft rubbing against your prostate, his arms holding you so closely and intimately, his balls so warm against your ass. Your prick twitches, and you feel your breath quaver.
“Vales?” Bulkun asks in surprise, “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Don’t admit it, a voice urges you. He’ll hate you for it.
You feel your erection soften.
No! Embrace your role!
You focus again on the feeling of him inside you, the smell and warmth of his body against yours, the comfort you feel in his arms.
“Yes,” you whisper.
Bulkun doesn’t react. You know in your heart that now that he’s finally won his conquest, he is going to cast you aside. You close your eyes, hold your breath, and wait.
His arms squeeze you tighter.
“Vales,” he says, his voice gentle, “I am so happy for you.”
Holding you tightly, his muzzle over your shoulder, his cheek pressed against yours, he rocks his hips forward and backward in the most gentle, tender lovemaking you could ever imagine. His girth slides against your insides, lovingly nuzzling your prostate with each stroke. Your prick hardens once more, and your chest feels as though it will burst from happiness as he slowly, gently, lovingly brings you both to orgasm.
You climax first, your ring-filled urethra letting out just a feeble dribble, but as your muscles contract, you feel Bulkun throb inside of you, feel a sudden eruption of warmth, and let out a soft moan as he squeezes you tightly against him, lightly rocking you against the sheets.
Scatterbrained Ramblings 