Womb of the New World
Chapter 5
I don’t know where I am. My entire body hurts, and I moan, turning over to hear metal clanking. I feel heavy.
“You are in captivity,” says the dark voice that rolled across the valley above my home before its owner robbed me from my people.
“Where am I?” I sit up immediately and regret it, my neck flaring into pain. I am naked, chains the only things against my flesh. I see the welts, scratches, bruises and lacerations across my body, and give a growl.
“Animals. Will you rape me now? Kill me?”
“We’re not as uncivilized as you assume. Have you not noticed we are speaking the same language?”
That, I hadn’t realized. I turn my head slowly to look at the walls. Stone, heavy and grey. One side has a window looking out onto a night sky. Another is entirely made of a metal gate, and on the other side sits the monster. I swallow hard, and say nothing, taking in every detail, willing myself to give no reaction at all to my captor.
“Look upon me, then. You’ll see me for many days hence.”
His eyes glow red and unnatural, but in them is an intelligence. The brow is a split cleft, reminding me of a woman’s sex, long, vertical and thickly lipped. The ears are pointed, like the bats of our warrens, nearer to the back of his head.
“What are you?” I ask, noting the powerful muscles of his body, beneath black, warped skin that looks dry and peeling. Veins ride out hard against the flesh, bulging as though from an excess of power. From behind his back rise huge, membranous black wings, with pointed upper tips that hook together, holding them closed … again, like a bat’s.
“I once looked like your kind, you know,” he says, not quite answering the question. My eyes wander down, unable to stop. “I would not look there now, if I were you.”
His voice is gravelly and soft, and I stop my eyes at his chest, feeling my heart suddenly skip beats. It rarely does that.
“Why?”
“There are many strange stories to tell. You’re the only one I’ve met who hasn’t lost some of her sense by now. I wonder how many stories you could bear.”
“Test me, then.”
I lift my eyes to his and feel a daring in them I do not know the source of, but it takes over, like everything else. His chin is sharp and pointed, and I see fangs hiding behind the surface of his lips. They gleam, those lips, wet and hungry for something I have yet to see.
She is a marvel. Her sex emits pheromones so powerful that I am sore pressed not to mount her immediately. But she is intelligent, fierce, wild and carefree, and I remember the woman Avgar ran off with, seven years ago. This girl reminds me intensely of her. I begin to speak. As I tell her our kind’s past, as I explain our future, I see her face change shape. From proud victim to wounded warrior, hateful witch to beseeching innocent. Behind it all a guarded ferocity, the will to survive as strong as mine, a hunger for knowledge that makes her watch my every moment rather than lose herself in self-pity and grief over her fate.
“Will you kill me?”
“Have I not explained?”
“You’ll give me to your lieutenants, then.” The bitterness in her voice scalds me, makes me lick my lips. Even her anger tastes delicious, her body rolling out sweat with arousal, hunger with fear. There are days when we hunt wild beasts in the field for the sheer pleasure of it, bringing home food, smelling the smells our prey makes and thriving on them.
She has a wildness like those beasts. It makes me imagine not a bite for the kill, but a bite for pleasure, something I have never done to any female after the Fallout. The urge has sometimes come to me, and I have always squashed it. I have the faint memory of violent, satisfying rutting from before the Fallout, but no sense of the person I had done it with, or why.
“I will not give you to them … yet.” I say these words carefully, wanting her to understand that her fate will not change, no matter how gentle I may be with her. She is destined to be seeded. I have only decided that I will be the first one.
Weeks pass. He wants me fully healed and prepared for what is to come. I hear him tersely order his monsters to lay no finger on me on pain of death.
Clanswomen from other tribes that do not speak my language enter, mute and beaten down, not looking me in the eye as they bathe me daily and clean me. My bleeding comes to pass, and I’m given no herbs, and I feel a fear clutch at my core. I can’t escape this. There is no escaping this.
One night, I wake to find him staring at me from the other side of the gate. My entire body is ringing with the look on his face, which should have no expression for a monster beyond depravity, but instead I see hunger. Loss. Lust.
I am confused. I sit up and pull my legs close to my body, trying to hide my near nakedness. I have been given light robes, and there is a thin mattress on top of the stone slab that serves as my bed. It is high like an altar, and the position of it is not lost on me. These monsters are giants, towering above. I am tall for my tribe, coming to stand taller than most men, but I am still not as tall as this creature.
“Are you ready?” He has never asked my name. He stares at me from the other side of the gate, and I notice the halls of these cages are silent. I no longer hear the clinking, wild screams, or moaning I am used to hearing.
“Where are the others?”
“I have moved them all to other quarters.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer, instead watching me with lids lowered. He is wearing a loincloth, and nothing else, his powerfully muscled lower legs sliding into strong calves and large feet with short claws at the tip of each digit. I am used to seeing him in rough breeches and some sort of crude armor.
I swallow, looking quickly past his loincloth to his eyes. They are so dark and quiet I feel a panic building in my chest, and try to breathe.
“Calm yourself, I won’t hurt you.”
“You can’t promise that.” Why does he know what I think or feel? Or am I so transparent?
A long silence. Then, “You’re right. But I will try not to. It has been a while since I mated with a human.”
“Please, can’t you—“
And then that fierce, pungent, dark scent, like mushrooms in the dark and sex sweaty under blankets, fills the room. My eyes unfocus and refocus, seeing the muscles of his body, the flexing of his flesh, and my lips open.
“Can you feel it?” He whispers, and I moan, watching him watch me.
“What … what is this?” My whole body feels heavy and slow, and as if the slightest touch might hurt or feel good, I can’t tell which.
“Science.” He remains on the other side of the bars, and does not move, but my flesh is alive and tingling all over. I squirm on my bed, turning away, hiding my shame.
“Don’t hide from me, we have much to see of each other yet.”
My manacles were long ago released from me as my good behavior earned the trust of the guards. Now, I struggle to sit up, but my belly is molten and my sex is throbbing – I can’t get up. I feel drugged and sleepy, yet anxious, and squirming on top of the thin pallet I exhale fitfully.
“What are you doing, what are you doing –“
“Watch me,” came his dark voice, and my eyes rise without my command them to watch him.
One clawed hand pulls the loincloth away. Beneath it thrusts a strange, warped sight – flesh black here as everywhere else, but it seems to have ridges around its circumference that don’t look human. Beneath that, a smaller version of the same sex organ, just as thick, but shorter. Both jut upward and outward, capped with wide, bulbous heads and scattered with round, flat bumps. The blackness of the flesh seems to include dark red blood vessels, crisscrossing the rising thickness as he takes a stance on the other side of the gate.
“Prepare yourself,” he says into the silence as I stare at his sex, and then I see him grip the upper shaft, close his eyes, and exhale. A clear fluid oozes from the orifice at the tip, a few viscous drops pushing out.
Something happens. Something unnatural and wild drives me backwards and rips through my body, clogging my mind with white-hot, seething pleasure, my mouth stretching wide into involuntary gasps.
“Noooo,” I wail, but the pleasure builds, and builds, and I squeeze my eyes shut and feel myself release fluid as I always have, but without a man inside of me, without a finger to touch me.
“Bokin,” my captor breathes, and I bend backwards into an arched rictus of pleasure, my shoulders pressed back down onto the pallet, my hips in the air, my feet spread as my sex oozes fluid down along my pussy lips and onto the platform. The bottom of my thin tunic robe is drenched.
He watches me, and I cannot stop, cannot stop as it wrings its way through me. When it is over, I fall back down and begin crying without a sound, chest heaving with silent sobs as I lie in my own sexual juices.
“I’m coming in.”
“Go away!” This I hiss, muffled between my lips as I press my face to the pallet.
“I have never seen a woman react this way,” comes the dark, thick voice, and the metal of the gate clangs open and then shuts. I hear him moving, and keep my face pressed to the pallet.
“Your body reacts to me, as I’ve told you it would. I prepared you as best I could.”
“I don’t want to be your slave! I don’t want to bear your children!”
“I must taste you.”
I kneel before her, and take her gingerly by the ankles, ignoring her tears. I tear away the robe easily, leaving her naked.
She is too delicious not to taste, and I have no answer for her pleading. I know only that the enzymes in my pre-arousal fluids have made her react in ways no other female ever has, and I must have her, in every way I can think of, before I can surrender her to any other.
“Open for me,” I breathe, and I feel myself hard and heavy between the thighs, and know that she is waiting and hot for me, that despite all of her protestations, she will welcome all of me.
“What is this, this is not right,” I hear her gasp, as I kneel forward and run my fingers down her thighs.
“Evolution, my darling,” and it flows as easily from me as in a dream. I am not used to endearments. I am not used to lovemaking. I am used to mating, and rutting. But this feels different.
My tongue is forked, and long. I keep my eyes on her quivering mouth, her eyes watching me as tears seep from them. Her breasts are full and thickly nippled, aureolas big and ripe. Her abdomen has a slight give but is otherwise firm, and rises to a cleft of defined muscle beneath her breasts. She is physical and wild, a runner, a fighter, and I cannot wait to make her buck beneath me in her throes.
“No … no!” Her eyes widen above her full, open lips as I let her see my tongue exit its house, edging closer and closer to her sex. But she cannot tear her eyes away, and so the tongue flickers across her fat clit, my wide hands gripping her thighs and pushing her open.
“Spread yourself for me,” I command, and I flicker my tongue again, her eyes glazing and her lashes fluttering.
Her body is putty, melting and liquid, and although she doesn’t hold herself open for me, I find it easy to push her open wider, and wider. Her sex, lightly furred with a russet brown, parts, the sheen of her smelling musky and sweet. The juices she wept from between these lips still glisten along her thighs and the bottom of her buttocks. I lick it up, taste her, close my eyes and revel in her odor.
She is like violence and mayhem, flint and fire, dirt and water, sweat and fighting. Beneath it, the lushness of grunts and sighs, and in her flesh I taste a clarity and a ferocity that makes me harden, impossibly more.
“I can smell you.” I hear my voice echo between her thighs and smile, showing her my fangs.
“Helut,” she whimpers, and I flicker my tongue, quickly and firmly, back and forth across her fat clit, the juicy head rising more and more prominently under the nuzzling and nudging. I slide my tongue down, then up, gathering up errant fluid, drawing it back to the top, wriggling and slithering, and watch her shudder, hands gripping the pallet, eyes locked on mine.
“Shall I stop?”
She has no answer, only bites her swollen lip and looks away. In response, I shove my tongue as far as it will go inside of her, and she screams, half sitting up to grab my head by the ears.
In this intimate embrace, trapped between her thighs, my tongue buried deep inside her sex, I look up, and realize she is priceless. I cannot share this with anyone. I want this taste forever. I will fill her with my seed, and only mine, and no other may enter her.
But I have yet to enter her myself. She stares down at me, horrified but not moving away, and I pump my tongue into and out of her, undulating it until her face crumples, and she bends, panting over my head, our hot breath mingling as I work myself deeper and deeper between the petaled lips of her fragrant sex. Her slender fingers grip my shoulders tightly, and the roughness of her grip makes me get that old and horrible urge to hurt her.
Arousal. I want her so aroused she can only beg for me to enter her. I do not want to let her climax again. I withdraw my tongue, standing up and moving over her, ignoring her wriggling attempt to escape. I pin her beneath me, hovering over and trapping her between my thighs and arms, hands fisted to either side of her.
“You drive me to distraction,” I say, gazing down at her panting mouth all slick, and my tongue flickers out and tastes her, slips into and out between the tiny hole of her quivering lips. She squeals and jerks away, but in her eyes is a defiance mixed with her fear.
“Do you taste yourself?”
“Y-yes,” she answers, soft. She swallows, and I watch the line of her smooth neck, tan like the rest of her. I nudge her with my groin, knowing she feels my two shafts fighting for space in the crush between us.
“Will you deny I have pleasured you?”
Silence. I listen to her heartbeat, loud in my sensitive ears, watch her eyes roam frightened and angry over me.
Black skin, dark skin, evil skin. But it glows with power, and his tongue, flickering a dark and bloody red, quickly flickers the taste of my own sex into my mouth, and the taste mingled with his makes me dizzy.
The two cocks below press insistently against my belly, and his arms are powerful. I see the long cleft that becomes his pointed nose, and reach up, seeing a drop of liquid in the crevice.
“Oh,” he says, suddenly, eyes intense on me as my finger slides into the furrow, finding a strange soft delicate flesh there, and a slickness. His voice sounds vulnerable in that moment, surprised and sensitive.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know.” He continues to watch me with his red eyes, and his smell wraps around me, making me feel safe and indulgent. I rub my finger a little harder, and he moans and shudders, closing his eyes, and the furrow seems to part a little, enabling my finger to enter.
“Tell me how it feels,” I whisper, fascinated. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but he is so strange and alien, and I can’t at all deny what he has done to me. There is some unnatural magic afoot, but I don’t know how to unravel it.
“It hurts, a little,” comes the grumbling darkness, and I feel him rub against my belly. The hardness, the stubborn nature of a thick rod determined to enter me makes me breathless, and I try to focus, rubbing the tip of my forefinger up and down the cleft.
“And?”
“Feels good. Like … friction. It’s … it feels too dry.”
Without thinking, I rise up and lick him there, shoving my tongue deep, and his eyes flow open and his lips pull back, showing me his fangs, but his throat emits a low, keening noise that makes my ears tingle.
“Bokin, Bokin,” comes from the back of his throat, strangled, and his longe tongue emerges, finding mine.
Somewhere in this madness, our two tongues tangle along the cleft of his brow, up and down as a tongue to a woman’s sex, and the moans we make together make no sense at all.
“Enough, enough,” and he withdraws, panting.
“Wait,” I say, touching my breasts, suddenly wanting them to hurt. I squeeze them, full in my palms, and shiver, my body sensitized.
“What do you want me to do?” There is a low promise in his voice, and it makes my body feel even heavier than before.
We say nothing, looking silently at one another, until I speak.
“What is your name?”
He blinks, then gives me a strange look. But he also answers.
“Yoevin. And yours?”
“Imogenne.” I look up at him, kneeling between my thighs like a giant, and realize I’m not afraid of him. I am afraid of what he can do to me, but not of him. I don’t know if that is smart, but I can’t undo it. My entire body feels riddled with desire for this creature, like I have desired no other in my lifetime.
“A beautiful name.” He reaches out, passes a large clawed hand over my face, and I feel my face reaching for, but not quite touching, his skin.
Her voice is naturally husky, a rough and gentle quality that made gooseflesh stand up on my neck when she screamed at me above her warrens.
Now, it is low and mellow, as though drunk, and the sight of her licking my brow, the hungry and mindless way she had done it, made my chest tighten. I am so overcome with feeling I can’t begin to comprehend any time past this moment, this room.
“Lie back,” I urge her, and she does so slowly, carefully, eyes fixed on me as I rise above her. “Are you ready?”
Imogenne says nothing, watching, and I place my knees on either side of her, and present my sex.
She can now see that beneath the flesh is science, that the ridges are shaft extensions that allow me to pump into her to maddening depths, as far as her insides will allow me. That I can extend as far as I need to. I am metal and flesh. Her hazel eyes widen, her tongue sliding out to lick her full lips as she raises her hands to lightly trace the shape of my organs.
“How do you make seed with this, if it’s … bio…? Bio …”
“Biomechanical. I was made, by human beings, centuries ago. I am partially human, but mostly machine.”
Her eyes move wonderingly back and forth, her cheeks coloring. She is dangerous and sweet, and I worry at what happens after this room, after this night. Will she try to run? Will she try to kill me? Will I let her?
Her thick, tawny dark hair falls across her breasts and shoulders, and I brush it away, gazing down at her.
“Why … why the other one?” She wraps her fingers around the lower shaft and I shudder, closing my eyes.
“It is slightly more sensitive than the upper shaft, it contains more nerve endings.”
“But why do you have it?”
My eyes lock to hers, seeing the curious depths to them, the sharp intelligence, the proud ego. I want to climb inside of her, to know everything lurking behind those eyes.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, my voice husky without intention. “We all changed in different ways, due to the Fallout. I ejaculate from both organs.”
“Oh … ah … can you put them …” She said nothing else, words falling away as she looked back up at me. I saw thoughts moving behind her eyes, and swallowed hard.
“What are you asking of me, Imogenne?” My words drop from me like honeyed liquor.
“I want to taste you,” she murmurs, and I nod once, watching as she cranes her neck down to see, then takes my first organ in her hand. She inhales a deep breath.